0 


WILL  SHAKESPEARE'S  LITTLE  LAD 


OF.  CALIF.  LXBBAEJ,  Ios 


The  gay  band  entering  the  town  from  the  west. 


WILL  SHAKESPEARE'S 
LITTLE  LAD 


BY 

IMOGEN    CLARK 


A  gallant  child,  one  that  indeed  .   .  .   makes  old  hearts  fresh 

— The  Winter's  Tale 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
REGINALD   BIRCH 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1897 


COPYRIGHT,  1897,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


TROW  01  RECTORY 

PRINTING  AND  SOOKB.NDINO  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


THE  GOODLY  FELLOWSHIP  OF 
A 

SHAKESPEARE   LOVERS 

THIS  SIMPLE 

STORY   OF  HIS  LITTLE   LAD 
IS  DEDICATED 


2128613 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

The   gay   band    entering    the    town  from    the 

West ,        .......    Frontispiece 

Facing 
page 

"Paint  me  a  picture  o'  it  all/'  .       .       .       .      66 

"He  thinks  'tis  the  fairies  pinching  him  for  his 

laziness,"  Judith  whispered,  98 

And   she,  to  humour   him,  fell  to  picking  the 

strings  of  her  instrument,     ....    136 

"Art  not  well,  sweet  heart?"  he  demanded,      .    186 

Hamnet  caught  the  outstretched  hand  and  pressed 

his  face  against  it, 240 

Hamnet  caught  the  raised  arm  in  his  hands 
and  dragged  it  hack  with  all  his  pitiful 
strength, 282 

"  He  just  lieth  there  weak  and  smiling,"    .       .    296 


WILL  SHAKESPEARE'S  LITTLE  LAD 


CHAPTER  I 

They  rose  up  early  to  observe 
The  rite  of  May. 

A  MIDSUMMER  NIGHT'S  DREAM. 

THERE  was  an  air  of  alertness  about  the  little 
town  of  Stratford-on-Avon  that  May  morn- 
ing in  the  year  of  grace  1596,  and  the  thirty- 
eighth  of  the  reign  of  good  Queen  Bess,  though 
usually  at  such  an  early  hour  it  was  taking  its 
last  delicious  doze,  utterly  unmindful  of  the  world 
and  its  manifold  duties. 

But  who  could  really  sleep  the  first  of  May, 
even  if  the  sun  had  not  yet  risen  ?  Not  the  old 
people,  surely,  whose  slumbers  are  light  enough 
at  any  time  and  who,  with  all  the  mysterious 
noises  of  the  previous  night  sounding  in  their 
ears,  lived  over  again  in  a  half-drowsy  state  the 
days  when  they,  too,  went  a-Maying.  Not  the  mid- 
dle-aged people,  who  had  buckled  on  the  armour 


2  Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

of  responsibility  and  had  homes  of  their  own  to 
look  after  and  children  to  care  for,  and  so  per- 
force must  give  up  all  those  pleasing,  foolish  cus- 
toms, though  the  spring  breeze  called  wooingly  to 
them  and  the  early  flowers  beckoned  with  alluring 
fingers.  Not  the  young  people — Ah,  no  !  There 
were  no  young  people  in  Stratford,  except  the 
tiny,  toddling  things,  and  they  were  of  small  ac- 
count as  yet 

There  was  not  a  young  person  from  ten  to 
twenty  years  of  age  within  the  limits  of  the  little 
town.  The  bells  of  Trinity  had  hardly  ceased 
striking  the  midnight  hour  of  the  3oth  of  April, 
when  shadowy  figures  of  all  sizes  came  from  the 
houses  lying  in  quiet  lanes  near  the  water-side, 
or  in  adjacent  fields,  and  hastened  to  the  market- 
place, the  point  of  assembly,  where  the  groups 
grew  quickly.  What  laughter  rang  out  upon  the 
still,  damp  air — what  shouts  and  songs!  Tom 
Bardolph,  the  town-crier,  jingled  his  bell  from 
sheer  joy,  and  called  stridently  to  the  stragglers 
whose  forms  could  be  seen  from  the  steps  of  the 
Cross.  The  boys  whistled  and  gave  vent  to  their 
exuberant  feelings  in  wild  yells,  while  the  older 
girls  cried  "  Hush !  "  warningly,  with  little  ripples 
of  excited  giggles  drowning  the  severity  of  their 
tones.  The  river,  slipping  slowly  past  under  the 
arches  of  Sir  Hugh's  great  bridge,  seemed  sud- 
denly to  hold  its  breath  in  envy  of  all  the  delights 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad  3 

the  young  folk  were  shortly  to  know  in  the  si- 
lent woods  where  the  flowers  were  already  on  tip- 
toe with  expectancy. 

Who  could  sleep  at  such  a  time  ?  Who  could 
sleep  later,  when,  with  the  blowing  of  horns  and 
the  cry  of  the  pipes  that  grew  each  moment  faint 
and  fainter,  the  band  of  young  people  left  the 
town  and  hastened  toward  the  shadowy  forest? 
And,  above  all,  who  could  sleep  in  that  sudden 
silence  which,  as  it  settled  down,  throbbed  with 
memories  of  other  times  to  the  stay-at-homes, 
though  the  river  went  on  with  its  drowsy  lullaby 
among  the  sedges  and  there  was  no  other  sound 
abroad  ? 

So  it  was  small  wonder  that  long  before  sunrise 
the  good  people  were  astir.  They  were  as  eager  as 
children  to  see  what  manner  of  day  it  would  be. 
The  robin  had  sung  blithely  the  previous  after- 
noon, chirping  forth  cheery  promises  of  sunshine 
and  clear  skies.  That  was  a  sign  that  never  failed 
them  !  But  still  the  grey  clouds  lay  close,  guard- 
ing the  secret  of  the  morning,  though  already 
there  was  a  thrill  of  colour  in  the  east,  where  the 
dawn  was  knocking  to  be  let  out. 

After  a  short  time  that  mysterious  curtain 
stirred  softly,  and  here,  through  an  unguarded 
chink,  and  there  through  another,  the  young  day 
peeped  out  at  the  world  with  a  little  golden  light 
in  her  eyes,  and  then,  grown  bolder,  she  rent  the 


4  Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

enveloping  folds  asunder  and  leaped  forth,  all 
radiant,  rosy  smiles. 

The  river,  that  had  been  a  moving  thread  of 
darkness  but  a  moment  before,  flashed  on  a  sud- 
den like  a  slender  Spanish  rapier  drawn  from  its 
sheath ;  the  meadows  along  the  banks  grew  dis- 
tinct; and  the  little,  plaster-walled,  thatched-roof 
cottages  of  the  town,  that  had  been  so  many  dim, 
blurred  shapes,  stood  out  boldly,  while  here  and 
there  a  small  tuft  of  blue  smoke  rose  from  the 
chimneys  of  the  thriftier  householders  and  min- 
gled with  the  dissolving  clouds,  and  under  the 
wizard's  touch  the  gardens,  with  their  flowering 
hedges  and  their  fruit-trees  white  with  bloom, 
were  revealed. 

The  wooden  spire  of  Trinity  thrust  its  glitter- 
ing tip  into  the  glowing  sky.  It  was  the  first 
thing  to  catch  the  light  of  the  coming  sun,  which 
burst  suddenly,  wide-awake,  upon  the  scene.  A 
white-throat  in  a  near-by  elm,  as  if  he  had  been 
the  only  one  watching  for  this  radiance,  lifted  his 
voice  in  gladness,  but  his  song  was  lost  in  the 
sounds  that  came  from  the  woods. 

Hark !  a  shrill,  sweet  cry — the  call  of  the  pipes, 
the  lower  notes  of  the  tabour,  and  then  a  gay  min- 
gling of  men's  and  women's  voices  throbbing  with 
the  lilt  of  the  tune,  and,  rising  above  them  all,  the 
high,  childish  trebles  that  carried  the  melody  up— 
up  into  the  blue.  The  distant  sounds  were  borne 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad  5 

townward  by  the  rollicking  little  breeze  which 
was  soft  and  warm,  and  yet  as  wayward  as  a  lad's 
will  as  it  loitered  along,  dropping  vague  hints  of 
all  the  wonderful  doings  out  there. 

In  a  moment  doors  were  flung  wide  and  win- 
dows creaked  under  impatient  hands.  The  key- 
note of  the  day  was  struck  in  that  burst  of  music 
which  the  little  breeze  obligingly  halted  to  chron- 
icle. It  came  nearer  and  nearer.  Even  the  so- 
ber-minded Puritans,  of  whom  there  were  not  a 
few  in  Stratford  town,  felt  a  quickening  of  their 
pulse  as  the  songs  grew  more  distinct.  They 
might  maintain  at  other  times  that  this  Maying 
was  an  abomination — a  godless  sport,  a  pagan 
custom — and  yet,  with  its  sweet  hurly-burly  at 
their  very  doors,  they  could  not  but  remember 
that  their  ancestors,  nay,  even  some  of  them 
themselves,  had  gone  forth  in  this  same  fashion  to 
greet  the  May,  returning,  as  these  young  people 
were  doing,  in  the  early  morning  with  the  treas- 
ures of  the  woods  heaped  high  in  their  arms. 

Some  such  remembrance  thrilled  in  their  blood 
despite  themselves,  and  the  corners  of  their  grim 
mouths  relaxed  a  trifle,  while  some  even  went  so 
far  as  to  half-sing  the  words  of  the  song  over  be- 
neath their  breath.  Only  some  of  them,  how- 
ever; there  were  others  who  listened  sourly,  and, 
as  they  hurried  out  with  the  rest  to  meet  the  in- 
coming procession,  their  voices  were  raised  in 


6  Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

loud  denunciation  and  they  threatened  the  danc- 
ers with  lameness  and  broken  legs,  and  saw  no 
beauty  whatever  in  the  freshness  of  the  day  and 
the  streets  with  their  arches  of  flowers  and  vines. 

Little,  however,  did  the  gay  band,  entering  the 
town  from  the  west,  heed  this  grumbling,  any 
more  than  one  would  feel  disturbed  by  the  buz- 
zing of  some  discontented  flies.  The  world  was 
large  enough  to  hold  them  all,  and  if  these  little 
black  specks  found  fault  with  all  the  sweet  bra- 
very of  spring  and  had  no  welcome  for  her,  why, 
so  much  the  worse  for  them  that  their  eyes  were 
holden  to  the  beauty  and  that  these  rites  seemed 
impious  in  their  sight.  There  be  many  like  them 
in  every  age,  who,  taking  no  enjoyment  in  the 
simple,  sweet  pleasures,  and,  indeed,  reading  their 
own  crooked  meaning  therein,  would  away  with 
them  all.  As  if  God  can  only  be  praised  by  long 
prayers  and  fasting,  and  sour,  smileless  faces.  As 
if  one  does  not  know  that  He  hath  made  the 
flowers  and  the  singing  birds  and  the  sunshine, 
and  that  joy  in  them  all  and  love  and  good-will 
to  our  kind  are  the  best  services  we  can  render! 

So,  recking  not  of  the  adverse  criticism  about 
them,  and  seeing,  indeed,  only  smiles  upon  the 
faces  of  the  little  crowd,  the  procession  came 
proudly  on,  the  men  with  the  pipes  and  tabours 
leading  the  way,  blowing  and  beating  lustily.  Back 
of  them  was  a  band  of  youths,  their  persons 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad  7 

decked  out  with  vines.  Some  of  them  had  bound 
wreaths  of  flowers  upon  their  brows,  others  had 
gay  blossoms  tucked  in  their  caps,  and  all  wore 
nosegays,  large  and  small,  slipped  into  their  jer- 
kins. They  rested  their  hands  on  one  another's 
shoulders,  and  stretched  out  across  the  roadway 
in  two  wavering,  brilliant  lines,  as  they  danced 
forward  from  side  to  side,  singing  ever  as  they 
came.  Next  in  order  a  group  of  flower-crowned 
maidens,  with  summer  in  their  faces  and  in  their 
light,  buoyant  steps,  made  the  air  sweet  with 
their  merry  music.  Their  arms  were  laden  with 
fragrant  branches  and  shy  blossoms,  which  ever 
and  anon  they  cast  about  them. 

And  then,  with  the  shouts  of  scampering, 
crowding  children,  came  the  chiefest  jewel — that 
which  they  had  all  gone  forth  to  seek  and  were 
bringing  home  with  pride  and  veneration.  The 
stay-at-home  people  pressed  close  to  see,  the  men 
tossing  their  little  ones  up  on  their  shoulders  that 
they  might  have  a  better  view.  A  yoke  of  oxen 
(good  Master  George  Badger's  old  Sure  and 
Steady  ;  they'd  been  away  on  this  same  errand  to 
fetch  the  May-pole  in  a  round  dozen  of  years  ;  it 
was  little  marvel,  then,  that  to  them  was  given 
the  first  place  in  the  drawing  !)  stepped  slowly  by, 
each  conscious  footfall  full  of  majesty.  Then  fol- 
lowed another  yoke,  and  still  again  a  third,  and 
so  on  until  a  half-score  were  numbered  by  the 


8  Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

eager  crowd.  And  what  a  transformation  it  was 
of  the  simple  beasts — simple  no  longer,  perdy  ! 
but  tricked  out  with  floating  streamers  and  vines 
and  with  sweet  nosegays  tied  on  the  tips  of  their 
horns.  They  were  like  the  beasts  of  Fairyland, 
or  those  wondrous  creatures  on  the  painted 
cloths  that  used  to  adorn  the  walls  of  Charlecote 
House,  before  the  owners  turned  Puritans  and 
had  them  burned  for  popish  reminders.  And  back 
of  the  last  oxen  was  the  rude,  low  platform  set 
on  wheels — especially  made  for  this  purpose — on 
which  the  giant  of  the  forest  lay  supinely, 
stripped  of  all  its  branches,  its  wounds  bound  up 
with  great  bunches  of  flowers  and  herbs,  with 
garlands  of  vines,  and  a  hundred  different  floating 
ends  of  ribbons  and  cloth  of  various  hues  stretch- 
ing from  the  top  to  the  bottom.  On  either  side  of 
the  cart  walked  a  man  holding  in  his  hand  a  huge 
pronged  stick,  which,  from  time  to  time,  he  rested 
on  the  pole  to  keep  it  the  better  in  its  place ;  or 
anon  he  would  shake  it  at  the  children  to  main- 
tain some  sort  of  order  among  them. 

The  crowd  cheered  stoutly  as  the  long  pole 
moved  serenely  by.  Then,  with  much  good- 
humoured  elbowing  and  pushing,  the  people 
joined  the  throng  of  vine-laden  devotees  who 
were  bringing  up  the  rear,  and  so  on  and  on, 
amidst  a  jangle  of  questions  and  answers  and 
bursts  of  song,  the  whole  procession  took  its  way, 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad  9 

halting  at  last  in  Master  Adrian  Ford's  meadow, 
near  Cross  Lane. 

A  score  of  men  ran  forward  and  closed  about 
the  cart.  It  was  the  work  of  a  conjurer  !  In  one 
moment  the  oxen  were  detached  and  led  away  ; 
in  another,  strong  hands  were  touching  that  fall- 
en monarch  with  almost  reverent  tenderness.  A 
boy,  who  had  stood  quietly  by,  now,  at  a  sign 
from  one  of  his  elders,  stepped  proudly  forward, 
and,  kneeling  upon  the  ground,  bound  at  the  very 
top  of  the  pole  the  banner  of  England — the  Red 
Cross  of  Saint  George,  then  he  moved  back ;  and 
the  band  of  men  closed  in  again. 

There  was  the  sound  of  laughter  and  cries — 
quick  commands — the  place  was  cleared  of  peo- 
ple, then  a  tugging  and  straining  went  on  among 
the  men  as  the  pole  slipped  into  the  hole  pre- 
pared for  it  in  the  ground.  It  wavered  uncer- 
tainly, as  a  ship  will  rock  in  the  trough  of  the 
sea,  but,  after  a  brief  moment's  space,  it  stood 
firm  and  straight,  a  right  brave,  beautiful  thing 
with  all  its  flowers  and  ribbons.  There  was  an 
instant  of  quiet,  almost  of  suspense,  among  the 
watching  folk,  and  then  in  a  trice  that  same  rol- 
licking little  breeze  which  had  already  done  such 
good  service  that  morning,  tugged,  boy-like,  at  the 
end  of  the  pennon,  blowing  at  it  mischievously, 
whereat  it  slipped  away  and,  bellying  out,  flaunted 
its  undaunted  splendour  in  the  sunshine. 


io          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

A  sudden  clapping  of  hands,  like  the  crackling 
of  a  hungry  fire,  burst  forth  in  greeting,  and  a 
great  cheer  sprang  from  the  assembled  people,  a 
cheer  that  spread  and  spread  even  as  the  rings 
grow  in  the  quiet  waters  at  a  stone's  fall,  until 
down  in  Old  Town  the  chimes  of  Trinity  answered 
merrily,  and  nearer  the  bell  of  the  Holy  Guild, 
in  Chapel  Lane,  rang  out  right  jovial  peals  of 
welcome.  And  high  above  the  clamour  of  bells 
and  fifes  and  tabours  and  the  shrill  blare  of  the 
trumpet  came  the  cry  as  from  one  throat — the 
cry  that  so  often  had  carried  dismay  and  despair 
to  England's  foes  in  many  a  battle  on  sea  and 
shore : 

"  Saint  George  for  England — Saint  George  for 
Merrie  England ! " 


CHAPTER  II 

All  the  world's  a  stage, 
And  all  the  men  and  women  merely  players. 

As  You  LIKE  IT. 

More  matter  for  a  May  morning. 

TWELFTH  NIGHT. 

BEFORE  the  sun  was  three  hours  high  Mas- 
ter Adrian  Ford's  meadow  bore  no  slight- 
est resemblance  to  its  usual  tranquil  aspect. 
On  the  softly  rising  knoll  at  its  upper  end  stood 
the  flag-tipped  pole,  with  its  ribbons  and  stream- 
ers fluttering  in  the  morning  air,  as  much  at 
home  in  its  new  surroundings  as  if  it  had  always 
been  there  and  was,  indeed,  not  a  creature  of  a 
day  but  for  all  time.  At  its  foot  the  ground 
was  strewn  with  birch  boughs  and  divers  other 
branches,  while  here  and  there  about  the  field,  as 
if  sprung  up  by  magic,  were  leafy  bowers  and  rude 
vine-trimmed  booths,  the  latter  erected  by  the 
tradesmen  who,  having  a  goodly  eye  for  business, 
had  left  their  stalls  and  shops  in  Middle  Row  and 
meant  to  take  advantage  that  day  of  the  country 
folk  who  would  come  from  far  and  wide  to  join 
in  the  May  sports  and  see  the  Morris  danced. 


12          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

There  was  a  daring-  rogue  of  a  pedler  already 
upon  the  ground,  who  scented  the  air  with  his 
upturned  nose  as  he  passed  the  merchants'  wares, 
disdaining,  in  especial,  the  attractions  of  the 
baker's  stall,  where  there  was  a  store  of  sugar, 
biscuits,  and  caraways,  with  all  kinds  of  sweet 
suckers  and  comfits,  laid  out  to  tempt  the  appetite, 
and  whither,  even  thus  early,  the  small  boys  were 
pushing  and  jostling  as  they  eyed  each  coveted 
dainty  with  longing  looks.  At  one  side  of  the 
booth  the  smiling  proprietor  stood,  crying  in  his 
thick,  suety  voice : 

"  Walk  up,  roll  up,  tumble  up,  come  up  any  way 
you  can — here's  cates  to  buy ! " 

The  pedler  gave  the  place  a  wide  berth;  he 
was  getting  in  tune,  too,  for  the  day's  work,  and 
began  to  enumerate  the  contents  of  his  pack 
with  lungs  which  put  the  baker's  vocal  powers  to 
shame  : 

"  Ribbons,  gloves,  Sheffield  whittles,  women's 
gear  and  rings  wi'  posies,  ballads,  shoe  -  ties, 
table-books  —  come  buy  o'  me!  Who'll  buy  — 
who'll  buy?  " 

He  would  keep  it  up  all  day  and,  at  the  end,  he 
would  go  away  with  an  empty  pack  and  a  full 
purse,  for  he  was  a  merry-hearted  wag  with  a 
tongue  in  his  head  that  would  draw  kindness 
from  a  stone,  one  who,  in  truth,  was  well  known 
in  Stratford  and  all  the  country  round  at  fairs 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad          13 

and  wakes  and  greatly  liked  by  the  women,  the 
maids  especially.  No  fear  that  he'd  let  Ned  or 
Diccon  slip  by  without  getting  a  fairing  from  his 
wares,  and  oh  !  the  treasures  he  could  disclose, 
and  what  an  eye  he  had  for  a  pretty  face,  and 
what  a  voice  to  sing  you  a  song  now ! 

Already,  too,  though  it  was  far  too  early,  the 
Morris  dancers  had  gathered  beneath  the  trees, 
taking  their  turn  at  a  game  of  loggats.  Robin 
Hood  and  Little  John,  in  their  tunics  of  Kendal 
green,  with  the  bells  about  their  ankles  making  a 
swift,  keen  music  as  they  moved,  had  laid  aside 
their  bows  as  they  matched  their  skill  with  the 
sticks,  while  the  country  bumpkins  stood  at  a 
little  distance  gazing  open-mouthed  at  the  sport, 
or  stealing  furtive  glances  at  Maid  Marian,  the 
Lady  of  the  May,  and  marvelling  among  them- 
selves that,  despite  her  golden  crown  and  her  long 
robes,  she  should  play  at  penny-prick  with  Friar 
Tuck,  and  beat  him  at  it,  too.  She  was  a  pretty 
wench  and  fair  to  see  in  that  wonderful  yellow 
gown,  though  their  elder  sisters  could  have  told 
them  that  'twas  only  Dame  Turpin's  cast  kirtle 
after  all,  and,  if  they  looked  closer,  they  would 
know  that  Maid  Marian  was  but  young  Peter 
Turf,  he  that  lived  at  Dancing  Marston  and  had 
run  away  from  home  this  two  years  back. 

The  people  came  thronging  in  from  all  sides, 
and  many  of  those  who  had  been  Maying  in  the 


14          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

earlier  morning  quitted  the  field  now,  hastening 
to  their  homes  to  refresh  themselves  with  food 
and  drink  and  to  trim  their  own  houses  with  the 
forest's  spoils  before  returning  for  the  sports, 
which  would  continue  till  the  sun  went  down. 

Three  children  —  two  girls  and  a  boy  —  de- 
tached themselves  from  the  noisy  group  in  front 
of  the  May-pole  and  hurried  across  the  meadows 
and  through  the  little,  straggling  lanes,  their 
arms  weighted  with  flowery  branches.  The 
girls,  who  were  somewhat  in  advance,  were 
dressed  alike,  in  full  kirtles  of  murrey-coloured 
homespun  reaching  almost  to  the  ground,  their 
jackets  laced  over  white  smocks.  The  short  grey 
cloaks,  which  both  of  them  wore,  were  pushed 
back  over  their  shoulders,  on  account  of  the  in- 
creasing warmth  of  the  day  and  because  'twas 
the  easiest  fashion  of  carrying  them.  The  oldest 
girl  was  about  thirteen  years  of  age,  while  her 
companion  was  two  years  her  junior.  Both  chil- 
dren had  fair  hair,  the  little  one's  escaping  be- 
neath her  white  coif  in  wayward,  wind-tossed 
ringlets  the  colour  of  corn-silk,  while  her  eyes 
gleamed  from  out  the  soft  tangle  as  blue  as  the 
speedwell  she  carried  in  her  warm  little  fist. 
She  had  a  gentle,  confiding  way  about  her. 

"  F  faith,  Sue,"  she  said,  half  smothering  a  sigh, 
"  I  wish  I  might  borrow  me  yon  bird's  wings,  for 
I  be  forewearied  and  can  go  no  faster  than  this 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         15 

snail's  pace,  and  I  would  be  at  home  with  a  bowl 
full  o'  porridge  before  me." 

"  I  warrant  thee  it  wouldn't  stay  full  long,"  the 
other  laughed  ;  "  there's  naught  like  being  out  in 
the  woods  for  hours  to  make  a  person  hungry. 
But  see  Hamnet  now,  what  a  laggard  he  is! 
One  would  think  he'd  never  a  thought  o'  porridge 
or  o'  aught  else  save  the  sky  and  his  dreamings, 
and  yet,  once  we're  set  down,  he'll  eat  more  than 
the  two  o'  us.  Tis  ever  thus  with  men  and  boys; 
my  Grandam  Hathaway  saith  they  have  tremen- 
dous appetites " 

"  Good  Mistress  Sadler  told  me  'tis  because  a 
man  must  feed  his  brains  and  muscles,  and  a  girl, 
now,  she  hath  only  her  body  to  care  for." 

"  Marry  and  amen !  I  be  glad  Mistress  Sadler 
is  no  godmother  o'  mine.  Have  we  not  brains  as 
well  ?  I  think  there  is  no  question  o'  a  boy's  brains 
when  there's  food  set  before  him.  He  eats  so 
much  for  that  he's  greedier  than  we  are,  and  that's 
the  truth.  Feed  his  brains,  forsooth !  Believe 
no  such  foolishness,  Judith  sweet.  My  father's 
brains  are  better  than  good  Master  Sadler's,  and 
he  hath  more  o'  them  too,  but  he's  no  such  big 
eater  as  Master  Sadler  is.  Dost  remember  last 
Michaelmas,  when  father  was  here  and  the  Sad- 
lers  came  to  dinner  ?  I  warrant  thee,  father  ate 
not  so  much  o'  the  goose  as  Hamnet's  godfather 
did,  and  he'd  more  excuse,  with  all  his  brains  to 


1 6         Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

feed.  Nay,  nay,  that's  foolish  gossips'  talk, 
though  I  be  but  a  child — and  a  girl  into  the  bar- 
gain— to  say  it." 

"  I  care  not  for  my  part,  Sue,  why  a  boy  should 
eat  more,  so  that  I  always  have  enow.  I  know 
one  thing  though ;  an  we  were  starving  now  and 
there  was  but  a  crust  o'  bread  between  us  three, 
Hamnet  would  give  up  his  share  to  us,  though 
his  muscles  and  brains  cried  out  for  the  feed- 
ing." 

"  Ay,  that  he  would,  and  though  we  would  pro- 
test, yet  would  he  find  some  good  reason  to  make 
us  do  his  will.  And  I  marvel  why  that  should 
be." 

"  Methinks  any  man  would  do  the  same.  Even 
Master  Sadler,  though  he  be  overfond  o'  eat- 
ing, would  give  up  all  for  my  dear  godmother's 
sake." 

"  I  cannot  say.  He  might  do  so  an  Mistress 
Sadler  were  in  sore  need  ;  but  every  day,  I  think 
not — I  think  not.  He'd  as  lief  she  had  the  wing 
o'  the  goose,  so  that  he  still  got  the  major  por- 
tion." 

"  Nay,  Susanna,  what  would  our  father  say  ?  " 

"  Our  father  would  say — troth  !  I  know  not. 
But  methinks,  though  he  might  chide  me  for 
letting  my  tongue  wag  thus,  he  would  smile  in 
that  way  o'  his  that  robs  his  words  o'  any  sting, 
and  mayhap  he  would  make  a  little  note  in  that 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad          17 

great  mind  o'  his  o'  good  Master  Sadler's  excel- 
lence and  his  mighty  fondness  for  eating  and  sack, 
and  see  how  he  could  turn  it  into  his  writings 
some  day." 

"  Doth  he  always  so  ?  I  shall  be  afeard  to  speak 
or  sing  when  he  is  by." 

"  There  is  naught  to  fear  ;  he  looks  on  only  in 
kindness  ;  he  is  so  gentle  for  all  he  is  so  strong 
and  tall,  and  knoweth  so  much.  But  he  is  ever 
learning  and  everything  teacheth  him — the  birds 
and  the  flowers,  and  the  way  the  trees  blow  in 
the  wind,  and — everything.  Why,  even  you  and 
me  are  not  too  small.  That  is  how  his  brain  is 
fed,  in  that  manner  and  with  reading,  and  not 
with  stupid  goose  and  gravy,  but " 

"  There's  mother  now,"  Judith  interrupted, 
"  and  grandam  too ;  they're  watching  for  us. 
Methinks  my  Grandmother  Shakespeare  hath  the 
sweetest  face  in  all  the  world.  I'll  race  thee  to 
the  house,  Sue,  and  beat  thee,  else  thou  may'st 
have  my  new  handkercher,  the  one  set  about  wi' 
Coventry  blue." 

"  Keep  thy  handkercher,"  a  scornful  voice  ex- 
claimed, near  them  ;  "  girls  don't  know  how  to 
run." 

"  Fie !  fie ! "  the  sisters  cried  in  a  breath,  their 
words  unheeded  by  the  slim  figure  darting  past. 
Judith  put  out  a  detaining  hand,  but  she  only 
grasped  a  bit  of  branch  from  the  store  the  boy 


1 8          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

carried,  and  even  that  would  not  stay  with  her ;  it 
flew  back  with  a  snap,  leaving  a  few,  half-opened 
buds  in  her  fingers.  The  next  moment  she  started 
in  pursuit  of  her  brother,  and  Susanna,  after  a 
short  struggle  with  her  dignity — she  was  grow- 
ing tall  and  had  put  away  many  childish  things 
— joined  also  in  the  race.  The  disdainful  gibe 
was  like  a  lash  to  spur  her  on,  but  despite  her 
fleetness  she  was  no  match  for  those  flying  feet 
that  seemed  to  spurn  all  obstacles  in  the  way, 
though  she  easily  outdistanced  Judith.  It  was  a 
foregone  conclusion  that  the  boy  should  win. 

"  Give  ye  good-day,"  he  cried  as  he  reached 
the  two  women  who  had  been  interested  onlook- 
ers of  the  race.  "  Saw  ye  ever  such  beautiful 
blooms?  I  knew  just  where  to  find  them — I've 
been  watching  for  weeks,  and  I  showed  the  girls. 
Oh  !  we've  had  rare  sport.  I  warrant  ye  there 
was  never  such  a  Maying  before."  He  broke  off 
as  his  sister  came  panting  up,  with  a  little  nod  of 
satisfaction. 

"  Said  I  not  true,  Judith  ?"  he  asked  slyly. 

"About  what?" 

"  About  running — girls  can't  run." 

"  'Twas  not  a  fair  race,  was  it,  sweet  Mother  ? 
He'd  a  goodish  start,  and  besides  he  frighted  us 
as  he  ran  by." 

"  I  outran  thee  once  in  Shottery  Lane,"  Susanna 
cried,  triumphantly. 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         19 

"  Thou'lt  never  forget  that,"  Hamnet  laughed  ; 
"  'twas  ages  agone.  Let's  try  again,  fair  and 
square — thou  couldst  not  beat  me  to-day." 

"  Nay,  I  could  not  do  it  to-day,  forsooth,  be- 
cause— because  there  are  the  May  sports  to  see." 

"  To-morrow,  then  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  will  be  a  busy  day,  will  it  not, 
dear  Mother?  I  could  beat  him  to-morrow,  were 
it  not  that  there's  baking  to  do ;  and  then  there's 
father's  cloak  to  unpick,  that  it  may  be  made  over 
into  a  doublet  for  thee,  Master  Hamnet." 

"The  next  day?" 

"  The  next  day  Susanna  might  easily  outrun 
thee,  sirrah,"  interposed  the  elder  Mistress  Shake- 
speare, with  a  laugh,  "  were  it  not  that  she  hath 
promised  to  help  me  with  my  knitting.  One 
victory  will  have  to  content  her." 

"  Ay,  that  it  will,"  the  boy  returned,  good- 
humouredly,  "  for  'tis  the  only  one  she'll  ever  get, 
as  ye  all  know,  though  your  words  be  so  brave. 
Harp  away,  Sue,  about  that  time  ;  I  give  thee 
leave.  Thou'lt  still  be  talking  o'  it  when  thou  art 
old  and  grey." 

"  Thou'rt  late  in  coming  home  ;  we  looked  for 
thee  an  hour  agone." 

"  We  could  come  no  sooner,  Mother  sweet, 
there  was  so  much  to  do  and  see." 

"  But  the  pole  hath  been  up  this  long  while 
now." 


2O          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

"  Ay,  in  sooth  it  hath ;  and  who  dost  think 
placed  the  banner  at  its  very  top?  Nay,  then, 
thou'lt  never  guess.  "Twas  me — me — me  !  I  knew 
thou  wouldst  be  mazed,  and  my  sweet  grandam 
too;  but  this  is  how  it  happed.  It  fell  this  year 
by  lot  to  Thomas  Getley  to  put  the  flag  in  place, 
and  'tis  the  third  time  running  that  he  hath  had 
the  office,  and  he  careth  not  overmuch  for  the 
honour,  save  that  'tis  kept  from  the  other  men. 
When  we  were  in  the  woods  this  morn  and  the 
pole  had  been  fixed  fair  with  ribbons,  I  heard  him 
talking  with  his  mates  and  giving  himself  airs 
like  the  London  gallants  that  come  sometimes  to 
Clopton  House.  And,  saith  he,  with  a  shrug,  like 
this,  'twas  not  such  a  fine  thing  to  do  as  they 
thought,  and  for  his  part  he'd  as  lief  any  boy 
would  have  the  chance.  Why  then,  Gran,  I 
walked  straight  up  to  him  and  said  I'd  take  him 
at  his  word.  At  that  they  all  laughed,  but  I 
would  not  budge,  though  the  cries  sent  little  hot 
pricks  into  my  skin,  and  he  was  mightily  flus- 
tered. 

" '  Why  dost  thou  want  to  do  this  thing  ? '  he 
asked,  speaking  out  right  boldly  ;  '  no  boy  hath 
ever  set  the  flag.' 

"  Then  I  answered  him  in  few  words  : 

" '  And  that  is  why  I  want  to  do  it.' 

"  At  which  he  laughed,  too,  and  saith  he : 

" '  Perhaps  thou  hast  another  and  a  better  rea- 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         21 

son  to  serve  thee,  sith  methinks  'twould  never  do 
to  overthrow  old  customs  just  for  a  lad's  desire.' 

"'Ay,  that  I  have,'  I  cried,  'and  the  best  o' 
reasons,  too.  'Tis  the  Cross  o'  Saint  George  I 
want  to  raise,  and  it  meaneth  more  to  me  than  it 
can  to  thee,  for  my  father  was  born  on  Saint 
George's  day.' 

"  Then  he  peered  at  me  close. 

"  '  Why,'  quoth  he, '  'tis  Will  Shakespeare's  little 
lad.  Nay  then,  thou  shalt  have  my  place,  for  his 
sake  and  thine  own.  What  say  ye,  friends,  shall 
we  not  let  the  old  custom  slip  ? ' 

"  And  all  the  men  shouted  '  Ay  ! '  right  lustily, 
and  one  o'  them  set  this  wreath  upon  my  head. 
And  Mother — Gran — when  we  were  come  to  Mas- 
ter Ford's  field  my  heart  was  going  as  loud  as  old 
Pimpernel's  tabour,  and  my  hands  shook.  I  was 
afeard  I  might  not  bind  the  banner  safe  and 
there'd  be  some  mishap,  and  then  sore  coil  for 
Thomas  Getley  and  the  others.  But  when  I 
stepped  out  at  the  sign  they  made  me  I  wasn't 
affrighted  in  the  least.  I  knelt  and  tied  it,  knots 
and  double  knots — 'twill  only  come  down  when 
the  pole  doth — and  then,  still  kneeling,  I  bent  my 
head  and  kissed  its  folds  softly.  '  Fly  wide,  little 
kiss,'  I  whispered ;  '  fly  as  far  as  London  town ;  the 
breeze  will  bear  thee  safe  to  father.' " 

"  Thou  art  a  pretty  phrasemonger,  in  sooth," 
his  mother  interrupted,  with  a  fond  laugh,  "  and 


22          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

full  o'  conceits  too.  Tis  a  good  thing,  verily,  to 
remember  thy  father.  I  doubt  not  he'll  be  think« 
ing  o'  us  all  this  day  and  wishing  he  was  here." 

"  '  A  branch  of  May  I  bring  to  you, 
Before  your  door  it  stands '  "— 

sang  Judith  in  her  shrill,  sweet  voice  as  she 
danced  to  and  fro  with  her  pretty  skipping  steps 
and  IOAV  courtesies. 

The  others  stopped  in  their  light  talk  to  watch 
the  figure  of  the  little  maid  darting  up  and  down 
the  soft,  green  sward.  Susanna  and  her  mother 
stood  together  at  one  side.  They  were  very  like. 
The  woman  had  only  to  glance  at  the  girl's  fair 
face  to  recall  'the  lovely  April  of  her  prime,' 
though  the  rose  was  still  faintly  glowing  in  her 
own  cheeks,  and  her  fading  hair,  in  the  bright 
sunlight,  took  on  some  of  its  old-time  sheen. 
Ham  net  was  near  his  grandmother,  as  was  ever 
the  way  when  the  two  were  of  the  same  com- 
pany. By  a  power  stronger  than  that  the  mag- 
net wields  they  were  always  drawn  close  to  each 
other.  Her  arm  was  thrown  fondly  about  his 
shoulder,  and  his  head,  with  its  curling  auburn 
hair,  was  cast  back  against  the  spotless  kerchief 
that  was  folded  across  her  bosom.  His  frank  face, 
with  the  dreamy  hazel  eyes  set  wide  apart,  was 
turned  in  admiration  toward  his  twin,  the  soft, 
delicate  cheeks  curved  into  laughing  lines. 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         23 

"  Brava !  Judith,"  he  cried.  "  Though  I  beat  thee 
at  running,  thou  canst  give  me  points  in  dancing. 
I  can  stamp  a  Trenchmore  as  good  as  the  next 
one,  but  when  it  comes  to  such  twistings  and 
turnings  I  cut  but  a  sorry  figure.  Thou'rt  lighter 
than  thistledown,  and  there'll  be  no  better  danc- 
ing done  this  day,  I  trow.  But  leave  off  now,  for 
I  be  starving.  Wait,  Mother  dear  ;  let  me  fix  that 
bit  o'  thorn  above  the  door,  to  keep  the  witches 
out.  So!" 

"  That's  a  good  lad  !  Now,  go  you  in,  children, 
and  get  your  porridge — 'tis  set  on  the  dresser. 
We  are  losing  day  ;  it  wastes  toward  noon,  and 
there's  naught  done.  Leave  your  grandmother 
and  me  to  dress  the  house." 

The  children  ran  within  doors  with  merry 
shouts,  and  the  two  women  looked  at  each  other 
smilingly.  They  needed  no  speech,  for  each  could 
read  the  other's  heart  as  'twere  an  open  book. 
Then  they  fell  to  work,  still  in  silence,  sorting  out 
the  long  vines  and  twisting  them  about  the 
supports  of  the  pent -house.  They  put  great 
branches  of  May  upon  the  ledges  of  the  windows 
and  bound  them  by  the  door,  stepping  off  at  a  lit- 
tle distance  the  better  to  judge  of  the  effect,  as 
Richard  Sponer  of  Chapel  Lane,  the  painter, 
studieth  his  work. 

They  made  a  comely  picture  working  together 
in  the  fresh  spring  sunshine.  The  sweet -faced 


24          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

elderly  woman,  with  the  silvery  hair  showing  be- 
neath the  border  of  her  coif,  touched  the  flowers 
tenderly,  as  though  they  were  a  part  of  her  own 
youth.  She  stepped  a  little  slower  than  did  her 
companion,  and  her  tall,  slender  figure  was  some- 
what bowed,  but  she  bore  herself  with  a  dauntless 
mien.  The  other  woman  was  not  quite  so  tall ; 
she  moved  with  quick,  brisk  motions,  and  as  she 
wound  the  blossoms  deftly  into  sweet- smelling 
nosegays,  she  sang  in  a  low,  vibrant  voice  the 
words  of  little  Judith's  song  : 

"  '  A  branch  of  May  I  bring  to  you, 
Before  your  door  it  stands.'  " 


CHAPTER  III 

My  crown  is  in  my  heart,  not  on  my  head ; 
Not  deck'd  with  diamonds  and  Indian  stones, 
Nor  to  be  seen ;  my  crown  is  call'd  Content. 

HENRY  VI. 

Spirits  are  not  finely  touch'd 

But  to  fine  issues. 

MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

WHEN  Master  William  Shakespeare  went 
up  to  London  to  seek  his  fortune  he 
left  his  wife  and  their  little  ones  in 
his  father's  home  in  Henley  Street.  At  that 
time  his  father  and  mother,  with  three  of  their 
children  —  Joan,  a  merry -eyed  lass  of  sixteen, 
Richard,  and  Edmund — the  latter  a  small  lad  of 
five  years — were  living  in  the  old  house.  Gil- 
bert, the  son  next  in  age  to  William,  was  away 
in  Snitterfield,  at  his  Uncle  Henry's  farm,  whither 
Richard  followed  him  a  couple  of  years  later. 

There  was  a  warm  welcome  ready  for  the  little 
family  from  those  good,  true  hearts,  and  the  pass- 
ing years  only  made  the  ties  of  affection  stronger. 
It  was  very  pleasant  for  the  elder  Mistress  Shake- 
speare to  have  the  continual  companionship  of  her 

25 


26          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

daughter-in-law,  Anne.  There  was  something  so 
lovable  about  the  creature  that  none  could  resist 
her.  She  had  a  way  of  slipping  into  a  body's  heart 
willy-nilly,  and  taking  up  her  home  there.  Her 
low  voice  and  gay  laughter  were  goodly  sounds 
to  hear,  while  her  fondness  for  her  children  was 
the  touchingest  thing  in  the  world.  The  two 
women,  though  they  were  each  a  trifle  jealous  of 
the  other,  as  is  often  the  case  with  very  worthy 
women,  were  drawn  closely  together  by  their  love 
for  the  little  ones. 

Master  John  Shakespeare,  worried  and  worn 
with  the  sad  stress  into  which  his  affairs  had 
fallen,  had  lost  much  of  the  jovial  cheer  which  had 
been  so  marked  a  characteristic  of  his  in  earlier 
life.  He  had  grown  silent,  too — he  who  had  al- 
ways been  so  ready  with  his  lively  sallies  ! — and 
the  wish  to  keep  from  his  fellows  was  one  that  in- 
creased daily.  His  was  a  nature  to  thrive  only  in 
the  sunshine  ;  the  storms  and  shadows  of  life  left 
him  sore  distressed,  hopeless,  despairing.  He 
was  like  a  wounded  animal  seeking  the  silences 
to  nurse  his  hurt,  and  looking  thence  suspi- 
ciously at  the  world.  The  turn  fortune  had  taken 
had  embittered  him  sadly,  and  he  no  longer  went 
abroad  to  mingle  in  the  merrymakings  of  his 
towns-people,  so  that  the  coming  of  the  children 
was  as  if  a  door  had  been  opened  suddenly  upon 
a  pleasant  place  radiant  with  love  and  cheer. 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         27 

It  was  midsummer  when  the  young  family  came. 
Susanna  was  then  a  little  more  than  two  years  old, 
and  the  twins  a  matter  of  five  or  six  months. 
From  the  first  the  heart  of  the  grandmother, 
which  was  always  open  to  children,  and  indeed 
to  all  her  kind,  warmed  especially  to  the  little 
boy.  His  resemblance  to  his  father,  even  at  that 
early  age,  was  very  marked,  and  the  woman,  as 
she  crooned  over  the  baby  in  her  arms,  seemed  to 
be  living  over  the  time  when  her  first-born  son 
had  lain  upon  her  breast  and  she  had  sung  the 
same  simple  words  to  him  : 

" '  Lully,  lulla  by,  littell  tyn6  child, 

By,  by,  lullay,  lullay  by,  littlle  tyne  child, 
By,  by,  lully,  lully.'  " 

Sometimes  the  bright  eyes  would  close  almost 
at  the  first  line,  and  then  the  sweet  voice  would 
cease  and  the  grandmother  would  fall  a-dreaming 
too,  only  with  open  eyes,  of  that  other  little  one 
who  had  grown  to  man's  estate  and  who  was  far 
away  amid  the  din  and  distractions  of  a  strange 
city.  But  the  same  confident  smile  would  linger 
on  her  placid  lips.  She  knew  the  heart  of  the 
man ;  it  was  as  simple  and  gentle  as  the  child's 
had  been,  and  she  had  no  fear  that  he  would  fall  a 
prey  to  ill-doing.  She  had  such  absolute  trust 
in  him,  though  she  missed  him  sorely  and  would 
fain,  for  her  own  sake  and  the  sakes  of  those 


28         Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

about  her,  wish  that   he  were  home  again  with 
them  all. 

At  other  times,  if  Baby  Hamnet  were  not  mind- 
ed to  sleep,  she  must  needs  talk  to  him  in  that 
foolish  fashion  women  have — lopping  off  their 
words  and  twisting  them  into  strange  shapes,  as 
if  by  so  doing  the  small  mind  can  understand  a 
person  the  easier.  Or,  if  he  ought  to  go  to 
Dreamland,  then  would  she  sing  that  other  old 
song,  about  that  Babe  whose  mother's  heart  was 
filled  with  grievous  dismay  in  the  lowly  stable  in 
the  far-away  Eastern  land  : 

" '  Lulla,  la  lulla,  lulla,  lulla  bye, 
My  swete  littell  babe  what  meanest  thou  to  cry  ? 
Bee  still  my  blessed  babe,  though  cause  thou  hast  to  mourne, 
Whose  blood  most  innocent  the  cruel  king  hath  sworne. 
And  lo  !  alas,  behold  !  what  slaughter  he  doth  make, 
Shedding  the  blood  of  infants  all,  swete  Saviour  for  thy  sake. 
A  king  is  borne  they  say,  which  king  that  king  would  kill. 
Oh !  woe  and  woeful  heavie  day  when  wretches  have  their 
will.' " 

So  would  Mistress  Shakespeare  sing  the  carol 
to  the  end,  softly  and  tenderly,  and  when  the  little 
one  had  gone  to  Slumberland  she  would  lay  him 
in  the  cradle  by  his  sister's  side  and  fall  to  watch- 
ing the  two  sleep-flushed  faces.  And  often  her 
daughter-in-law  would  cry,  half  in  jest,  half  in 
earnest : 

"  Nay  then,  my  Mother,  thou'rt  all  for  Hamnet 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         29 

and  hast  no  eyes  for  my  sweet  bird,  Judith  ;  and 
as  for  Susanna,  thou  givest  the  child  no  word.  I 
do  protest,  la,  'tis  not  right ;  hereafter  I  will  keep 
the  little  lad  myself  and  thou  mayest  sing  Judith 
to  sleep." 

Then  the  elder  woman  would  laugh  in  her  turn 
and  say  : 

"  I  fear  not  thy  threats,  sweetheart,  and  right 
willingly  will  I  sing  to  Judith.  In  truth  I  love 
her  and  my  little  Susanna  too ;  only — only — the 
boy  cometh  first  because  o'  his  father's  sake. 
Thou'lt  humour  an  old  woman,  lass?  " 

And  for  answer  Anne  Shakespeare  would  kiss 
the  sweet  questioning  face,  and  if  Hamnet  were 
awake  she  would  push  him  crowing  into  his 
grandmother's  arms  and  play  hy-spy  with  him 
over  her  shoulder,  whereat  Susanna  would  join 
in  the  sport  with  her  shrill  screams  and  Judith 
would  coo  gayly  from  the  cradle.  Truly,  they 
were  very  happy  together. 

So  the  months  slipped  by,  and  season  after 
season  passed  uneventfully  and  quietly  to  the 
household  in  Henley  Street.  It  seemed  but  yes- 
terday to  Mistress  Mary  Shakespeare  that  Susan- 
na, on  the  time  of  her  first  coming  there,  had 
stood  in  the  door-way,  while  her  father  had  cut  a 
tiny  notch  in  the  wood  above  her  sunny  head  to 
mark  her  height  and  had  put  a  little  '  S '  along- 
side. The  mother,  Anne,  had  sat  by,  looking  on 


30          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

with  laughing  eyes  the  while  she  danced  Baby 
Judith  in  the  air  and  she  herself  held  Hamnet ; 
and  when  his  father  turned  to  him  and  said  : 
"  Thou'rt  too  small  to  be  measured,  manikin,"  she 
had  cried  out :  "  Not  so,  William,  not  so  ;  he  is 
as  high  as  my  heart."  Whereat  they  had  all 
laughed  at  her  quick  protest.  And  now  her 
words  had  come  true  in  very  deed. 

The  years  had  brought  still  other  changes  to 
Henley  Street.  Master  John  Shakespeare  walked 
a  little  slower,  and  the  habit  of  silence  had  grown 
more  surely  upon  him,  though  with  his  son's  in- 
creasing success  in  London  his  own  fortune 
was  rapidly  mending.  A  look  of  content  had 
gradually  settled  upon  his  wrinkled  face,  dispell- 
ing the  harassed  expression  which  had  so  long 
disfigured  it,  and  he  held  his  head  with  something 
of  the  confidence  he  had  shown  in  the  days  of  his 
own  public  capacity. 

The  same  gentle  trust  was  written  on  Mistress 
Mary  Shakespeare's  features  ;  the  same  unflinch- 
ing bravery  of  mien  and  cheeriness  of  word  that 
had  never  failed  her  even  in  the  darkest  hours 
were  still  apparent  in  her  deportment  and  speech. 
She  was  always  one  to  help  others ;  her  heart 
was  as  guileless  and  warm  as  a  child's  and  as 
ready  to  go  forth  in  love.  It  was  a  heart  that 
knew  no  age.  If  there  was  a  little  more  pride  in 
her  bearing  than  in  the  old  times,  was  not  that 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         31 

justifiable,  when  away  in  London  town  her  son 
was  becoming  famous  ? 

Already  there  had  come  word  of  the  plays  and 
poems  he  had  made.  Had  not  Richard  Field, 
himself  a  Stratford  man,  printed  '  Venus  and 
Adonis'  and  that  sadder,  graver  story  of  poor 
Lucrece?  Had  not  all  London  town  talked  of 
them  ?  Had  not  the  young  Earl  of  Southampton 
been  glad  to  be  the  friend  and  patron  of  such  a 
man  of  genius  as  sweet  Master  William  Shake- 
speare ?  And  he  had  made  substantial  proof,  ay  ! 
that  he  had,  of  his  friendship  and  love. 

Suppose  William  were  silent  about  his  work  ? 
It  was  always  his  way  to  give  no  praise  to  him- 
self. But  good  Master  Field  let  the  folk  of  Strat- 
ford know  the  high  esteem  in  which  the  poems 
were  held  by  people  of  quality  and  learning. 
And  those  plays  that  crowded  the  theatre  during 
the  season — what  magician's  hand  had  called  them 
into  being?  Was  it  possible — was  it  possible — 
how  the  mother's  heart  grew  tremulous  with  de- 
light ! — that  it  was  the  same  hand  that,  in  the  long 
ago,  had  clung  to  her  gown  and  had  patted  her 
face  so  lovingly  ? 

What  a  brave  showing  the  mere  titles  made  ! 
'Harry  the  Sixt' — or  truly  all  that  was  best  in  it! 
— '  the  pleasant,  conceited  historic  of  The  Taming 
of  a  Shrew/  '  Errors/  '  Love's  Labour's  Lost/ 
*  The  Gentlemen  of  Verona/  '  Richard  the 


32          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

Third,'  'A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,'  'The 
Venetian  Comedy ' — and  there  were  more  to  come. 
Why,  he  said  he  had  just  begun,  and  he  loved  his 
work.  He  was  going  to  write  a  play  about  a 
pair  of  hapless  lovers — he  had  told  her  that  much 
already — and  he  would  weave  therein  a  bit  of  poor 
Mistress  Charlotte  Clopton's  story — she  that  had 
died  a  fearful  death  the  year  of  the  great  plague 
in  Stratford  town — God  rest  her  soul!  And, 
after  that,  there  would  be  more  and  more.  The 
wonder  and  the  glory  of  it!  Surely  a  woman 
had  a  right  to  be  proud  of  a  son  like  that ;  but, 
deep  in  her  heart,  she  knew  that,  beyond  all  his 
genius,  the  real  reason  of  her  pride  in  him  was 
because  of  his  love  for  her  and  his  tenderness 
and  help  to  them  all.  What  did  they  not  owe 
him? 

The  family  in  Henley  Street  had  grown  smaller 
with  the  flight  of  years.  Of  the  other  sons, 
Edmund  was  the  only  one  at  home — a  tall  strip, 
ling,  with  his  heart  already  turned  Londonward. 
But  Gilbert  and  Richard,  both  of  them  men  now 
and  able  to  go  whither  they  would,  were  bothered 
by  no  such  dreams.  They  were  content  with  the 
tranquil  life  of  the  near-by  hamlets,  where  they 
followed  their  simple  pursuits  and  found  their 
diversions  in  sheep-shearing  festivals,  wakes,  and 
harvest- tide,  the  annual  fairs  at  Stratford,  the 
entertainments  connected  with  Christmas,  New 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         33 

Year's,  and  Easter,  the  May-day  sports,  the  de- 
lights of  Whitsuntide,  the  beating  of  the  bounds 
during  Rogation  week,  and  the  occasional  repre- 
sentation of  stage-plays  at  the  Guildhall  of  their 
own  native  town  or  in  Coventry,  only  a  short 
distance  away.  These  home-keeping  youths  had 
much  to  amuse  them  without  going  far  a-field. 

Pretty  Mistress  Joan  Shakespeare  was  no  longer 
an  inmate  of  her  father's  house  ;  she  had  exchanged 
her  early  home  for  one  of  her  own  in  Scholar's 
Lane,  which  Master  William  Hart  had  provided 
for  his  bride.  The  wedding  had  occurred  the 
previous  August,  when  the  twins  were  ten 
years  old,  and  it  had  been  an  occasion  of  great 
rejoicing.  Hamnet  and  his  sisters  had  rifled  the 
woods  and  lanes  the  day  before,  of  flowers  and 
vines,  and  had  helped  the  young  maids  deck  the 
rooms  of  both  houses — the  old  home  and  the 
new — with  the  sweet-smelling  treasures ;  they  had 
run  hither  and  thither  on  errands,  as  fleet  of  foot 
as  the  deer  in  the  heart  of  Arden,  and  had  even 
penetrated  into  the  kitchen,  there  to  receive  fre- 
quent rewards  for  their  good  behaviour.  And  on 
the  auspicious  day  itself,  with  the  bride-favours 
floating  from  their  shoulders,  they  had  borne 
themselves  right  bravely  in  their  different  parts. 

Susanna  and  Judith,  with  the  other  brides- 
maids, had  gone  early  to  Master  William  Hart's 
house,  presenting  him  with  a  branch  of  gilded 
3 


34          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

rosemary  bound  with  ribbons,  and  then  had  led 
him  forth  to  the  church  along  the  rush-strewn, 
flower- bedecked  way,  while  Hamnet,  with  the 
bridegroom's  men,  had  conducted  the  bride 
thither,  Hamnet  walking  nearest  to  her,  because 
she  would  have  it  so.  In  sooth,  she  made  a  win- 
some bride,  with  the  chaplet  of  flowers  on  her 
bright  brown  hair,  which  waved  to  her  waist,  her 
fair  face  looking  forth  from  the  filmy  veil  which  be- 
came her  vastly  !  In  her  hand  she  bore  a  branch 
of  rosemary  that  had  been  previously  dipped  in 
sweet-scented  water,  and  her  little  nephew  at 
her  side  waved  his  gilded  branch  gently  to  and 
fro.  Just  in  front  of  them  strode  a  youth  who 
carried  the  bride-cup,  which  was  filled  with  wine 
and  decorated  with  vines  and  ribbons,  and  back 
of  them  were  the  musicians  playing  ever  softly. 

So  they  passed  along  the  road,  coming  at  last 
to  Trinity  Church,  where  the  doors  stood  wide 
and  the  wedding -chorus  greeted  their  ears. 
Good  Sir  Richard  Bifield  was  waiting  at  the 
chancel  steps,  and  thither  the  bridal  party  walked 
up  the  nave,  where  the  wedding -guests  were 
grouped  on  either  side,  the  women  pressing  for- 
ward  to  see  the  bride  as  she  passed,  and  all  of 
them  waving  their  sweet  -  scented  branches  of 
gilded  rosemary  and  bay  until  the  air  was  heavy 
with  perfume. 

When  they  paused  and  the  vicar  had  stepped 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         35 

forward,  Hamnet,  from  his  place  next  the  groom 
— for  the  maidens  were  standing  now  with  the 
bride — stole  furtive  glances  about  him,  and  mar- 
veiled  much  why,  when  it  all  was  so  joyous  and 
beautiful,  his  Grandam  Shakespeare  should  look 
so  sad.  His  sight  was  keen  enough  to  discover 
the  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  he  wanted  to  comfort 
her,  though  why  she  should  need  comfort  at  such 
a  time  he  knew  not. 

"  Tis  because  women  are  not  men,"  the  little 
lad  mused,  "  that  they  act  thus.  Methinks  they're 
ever  like  the  sky  in  April,  one  moment  tears  and 
the  next  all  smiles — sad  and  happy  in  a  breath. 
There's  my  Aunt  Joan — 'twas  only  this  morning, 
when  my  grandam  kissed  her,  that  she  fell  a-weep- 
ing,  and  now  how  gay  she  looks,  as  if  she  never 
would  shed  a  tear  again.  'Tis  passing  strange. 
I  must  ask  father " 

He  broke  off  in  his  reflections  as  the  singing 
burst  forth  again,  and  the  newly  wedded  couple, 
after  the  bride-cup  had  been  called  for  and  the 
customary  kiss  given,  turned  from  the  altar. 
Mistress  Hart  stopped  for  a  moment,  on  her  way 
down  the  nave,  by  her  mother,  and  Hamnet, 
looking  on,  saw  tears  not  only  in  his  grand- 
mother's eyes,  but  in  his  aunt's  also,  as  the  two 
women  embraced  each  other  fondly,  and  the 
elder  said  "  God  bless  thee !  "  while  the  younger 
murmured  "  Amen." 


36          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

"  Tis  marvellous  strange,"  the  boy  thought 
"  Of  a  truth  I  must  ask  father." 

But  there  was  no  chance  then  to  seek  the 
desired  information,  with  the  people  pressing  out 
after  the  bride  and  sweeping  everyone  along. 
That  was  surely  no  time  to  pause  and  wonder  at 
the  ways  of  women-folk.  What  a  clatter  there 
was!  As  if  the  few  minutes  of  enforced  silence 
had  but  served  to  oil  their  tongues  the  better,  and 
everyone  must  make  up  for  that  bit  of  quietness. 
There  was  more  noise  abroad  than  ever  came 
from  the  new  mill-wheel  just  beyond  the  church 
at  the  foot  of  Mill  Lane.  The  laughing,  chatter- 
ing guests  surged  through  the  open  doors  and 
formed  into  a  procession ;  then  they  started  on 
the  homeward  way. 

Master  and  Mistress  Hart  led  the  happy  com- 
pany ;  then  came  Master  John  Shakespeare  and 
Mistress  Mary,  his  wife,  followed  by  Master 
William  Shakespeare  —  come  on  purpose  from 
London  town  to  be  at  his  sister's  wedding — 
walking  with  Mistress  Anne,  his  wife,  who  was 
clad  in  a  brand-new  gown  as  fine  as  any  Court 
lady  would  wish  to  wear,  with  the  ruff  about  her 
throat  set  and  coloured  with  yellow  starch,  and 
upon  her  head  a  little  cap  of  silver  tissue — a  gift 
from  her  husband — which  did  augment  the  soft 
fairness  of  her  hair  right  wondrously,  while  upon 
her  breast  she  wore  the  blue  bride-laces  which, 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         37 

with  the  favours,  were  always  presented  to  the 
guests  on  such  occasions. 

Back  of  them  trooped  the  relatives  and  friends. 
Old  Mistress  Hathaway,  with  her  son  Tom,  the 
Henry  Shakespeares  from  Snitterfield,  the  John 
Shakespeares  from  Bridge  Street,  the  Shake- 
speares from  Rowington  Hall,  the  Etkyns,  Cor- 
nells, Webbs,  Lamberts,  and  Greenes;  theCloptons 
and  Combes,  graciously  friendly,  Henry  Walker 
— he  that  would  be  alderman  some  day — hob- 
nobbing with  the  Master  Bailiff,  the  Vicar  of 
Trinity  arm-in-arm  with  the  master  of  the  Gram- 
mar School — Sir  John  Colton — both  deep  in  some 
learned  disputation,  and  turning  ever  and  anon 
for  support  in  their  argument  to  Sir  Thomas 
Hunt,  of  Luddington,  who  was  walking  just 
behind  them.  Then  came  Hercules  Underhill 
and  his  good  wife ;  Walter  Roche  and  his ;  Julius 
Shawe,  gay  and  smiling,  though  everyone  knew 
he  was  wearing  the  willow  for  sweet  Mistress 
Hart's  sake ;  the  Rogerses,  the  Sadlers,  and  many 
others,  old  and  young ;  while  the  children  ran  on 
before,  or  danced  along  by  the  sides  of  their 
elders,  singing  and  shouting  merrily. 

And  then,  almost  before  they  realized  it,  they 
had  reached  their  destination,  and  right  in  front 
of  them  stood  the  Shakespeares'  home,  its  win- 
dows dressed  with  flowers,  and  its  garden,  which 
swept  from  the  back  around  the  two  sides,  green 


38          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

and  sweet  beneath  the  glowing  sun.  There  were 
birds  twittering  in  the  trim  hedge  along  the 
street  and  calling  out  to  their  brother-songsters 
in  Nicholas  Lane's  garden  to  come  and  see  the 
happy  doings. 

Fast  upon  the  home  -  coming  followed  the 
bride -ale  and  the  games  and  dances.  There 
was  nothing  but  jollity — not  a  thought  or  a  sus- 
picion of  a  tear !  Hamnet  and  the  other  chil- 
dren strayed  about  the  house  at  first ;  then,  wan- 
dering off  to  the  adjacent  fields,  they  played  at 
hoodman- blind,  tag,  and  barley-break,  their 
shouts  filling  the  air  with  a  blithe  hubbub.  He 
quite  forgot  his  reflections  of  the  earlier  day,  but 
they  returned  in  full  force  when  the  time  for 
parting  came. 

There  were  tears  then  in  plenty  ;  tears  in 
Grandam  Shakespeare's  eyes,  though  her  lips 
were  curved  into  brave  smiles ;  tears  in  his  moth- 
er's eyes,  though  why  she  should  weep  he  could 
not  tell,  when  only  the  moment  before  she  had 
been  laughing  with  her  gossip,  Mistress  Sadler. 
Tears,  tears,  tears  in  the  little  bride's  eyes,  so 
many  that  they  brimmed  over  and  rolled  down 
her  cheeks.  Grandfather  Shakespeare  looked  as 
if  he  had  a  sorry  pose.  Hamnet  glanced  quickly 
at  his  father,  whose  kind,  hazel  eyes  were  bent 
upon  the  bride's  face  ;  they  were  very  soft  and 
tender  and — Hamnet  could  not  say. 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad          39 

It  was  very  strange !  He  could  not  see  over- 
well  himself,  and  when  Aunt  Joan  stooped  and 
whispered  "  Good-by,  sweet ! "  he  felt  a  queer 
lump  rise  in  his  throat.  He  threw  his  arms 
around  her,  and  clung  to  her  as  she  kissed  him. 
Then  he  watched  her^still  surrounded  by  the 
bridesmaids  and  bridesmen,  go  away  hand-in- 
hand  with  her  husband  across  the  fields  to  the 
new  home,  and  somehow — he  couldn't  see  very 
far.  And  yet  it  was  a  clear  evening  with 
such  a  soft,  peaceful  after-glow  flooding  the  sky, 
or  he  had  thought  so — but  now  a  mist  was  ris- 
ing! 

He  would  ask  father.  He  turned  with  the 
question  on  his  lips,  but  his  father  had  gone  with 
some  friends  to  pass  the  evening  at  the  Swan  and 
would  not  be  back  until  long  after  Hamnet's  bed- 
time. The  little  lad  stifled  a  sigh  ;  there  was  no 
use  asking  the  women-folk  or  grandfather.  The 
house  seemed  strangely  quiet  after  the  gayety, 
and  all  the  flowers  were  drooping  and  dying. 
The  very  air  was  full  of  sadness,  and  yet  for  all 
that  grandmother  had  looked  so  sorrowful,  she 
and  his  mother  were  talking  blithely  of  the  do- 
ings of  the  day,  and  what  this  one  had  worn  and 
what  the  other,  and  what  had  been  said.  Su- 
sanna and  Judith  were  whispering  on  the  settle  ; 
he  could  catch  a  word  now  and  again — '  kirtle,' 
'fernstitch,'  '  bonelace,'  'my  mammet.'  How 


40          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

girls  talked,  as  if  a  boy  ever  cared  to  listen! 
Now,  if  Tom  Combe  and  Francis  Collyns  were 
only  present,  there  would  be  something  worth 
hearing.  There  would  be  talk  of  the  Armada — 
one  never  tired  of  that  desperate  sea-fight ;  or  the 
war  in  Flanders,  look  you  !  or  the  famous  en- 
counter between  Sir  Guy  and  Colbrand.  And  if 
by  any  chance  those  subjects  palled,  there  was 
that  game  of  prisoners'  base  the  big  boys  played 
Saturday  sen'night  in  the  field  near  the  Bank- 
croft.  He  patted  his  big  hound,  Silver. 

"  Thou  understandest  anyway,"  he  whispered  ; 
"  and  when  father  cometh  back  we'll  ask  him." 

In  the  soft  dawn  of  the  next  morning,  the 
whole  household  was  astir.  Master  William 
Shakespeare  was  going  to  London,  and  must  be 
away  by  the  sun's  uprising.  After  Susanna  and 
Judith  had  spread  the  table  and  the  elders  had 
seated  themselves,  Hamnet,  as  was  his  wont,  stood 
at  one  side  and  repeated  his  grace.  That  fin- 
ished, he  made  a  low  courtesy,  and  said  "  Much 
good  may  it  do  you !  "  and  forthwith  put  the 
breakfast  upon  the  table,  waiting  so  carefully  and 
attentively  upon  his  elders  that  the  simple  meal 
of  eggs  and  bread  and  milk,  with  crisp  lettuce 
from  the  garden,  was  soon  over.  At  its  end,  after 
he  had  carried  away  the  empty  platters  and 
brushed  the  crumbs  into  a  '  voider,'  Susanna  and 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         41 

he  removed  the  cloth,  folding  it  carefully,  and 
then  they  brought  a  clean  towel  and  a  basin  and 
ewer  for  washing  the  hands. 

With  all  that  to  do,  there  was  no  chance  to  ask 
questions,  though  the  boy  could  feel  them  surg- 
ing within  him.  There  were  so  many  last  words 
to  be  said  by  everyone  that  his  fancies  must 
need  wait.  He  stood  quietly  by,  suppressing  his 
disappointment  bravely,  but  his  father,  with  that 
wonderful  way  he  had  of  reading  another  per- 
son's thoughts,  looked  at  the  wistful  little  face 
and  understood  that  something  was  troubling  the 
small  mind.  Yet  he  gave  no  sign.  He  kissed 
them  all  farewell ;  then  he  mounted  the  roan 
champing  at  the  door,  and,  turning  in  his  saddle, 
he  held  out  his  hand. 

"  Spring  up  behind  me,  little  lad,"  he  cried  ; 
"  and,  Sir  Silver,  stretch  thy  legs ;  we'll  go  a  bit 
toward  London  together." 

"  An  I  might  only  go  all  the  way,"  Hamnet 
whispered,  as  he  clung  to  the  strong  figure,  and 
the  horse  bounded  forward  through  the  quiet 
street. 

"  Would'st  leave  them  all  for  me  ?  " 

Hamnet  glanced  at  the  small  group  under  the 
pent-house ;  at  the  old  man  in  his  dressing-gown, 
with  his  'broidered  night-cap  on  his  straggling, 
white  hair  ;  at  the  two  women  side  by  side,  with 
their  sad  faces  that  were  yet  smiling,  oh,  so 


42          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

^7aliantly ;  at  the  little  girls  waving  their  hands. 
He  tightened  his  hold. 

"  Yea,"  he  answered,  with  a  quick  -  drawn 
breath. 

"  And  Silver  ?  " 

"  He's  going,  too." 

Will  Shakespeare  laughed. 

"  Thou  hast  a  ready  wit ;  but  wait,  my  little 
lad  ;  the  years  fly  quickly.  When  thou'rt  older, 
thou  shalt  be  with  me " 

"  All  day,  and  every  day  ?  " 

"  An  thou  wilt." 

"  Tis  so  long  till  then  ;  I  would  the  time  were 
now.  Methinks  the  years  will  be  monstrous  slow 
in  passing." 

"  Nay,  nay,  they  will  go  fast  enough,  and  there 
is  much  thou  wilt  have  to  do.  Thou  must  grow 
wise  and  good,  and  be  merry  and  gentle  withal." 

"  And  what  age  must  I  be  ?  " 

"  I  wot  not.  After  the  grammar  school  here, 
there  will  be  study  at  Oxford,  and  then " 

"  London  and  father  !  " 

"  Not  so  fast,  not  so  fast.  London  an  thou 
wilt,  but  methinks  by  that  time  thy  father  will  be 
back  here  in  Stratford  town  in  some  home  of  his 
own.  What  sayest  thou  to  the  '  Great  House,'  if 
Fortune  smiles?  But  breathe  no  word  of  this; 
thou'rt  like  my  second  self,  and  so  I  speak  to 
thee." 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         43 

Hamnet  pressed  his  arms  closer  and  the  man 
went  on,  with  a  smile  :  "  There's  no  spot  like  this 
little  town  of  ours,  lad,  an  thou  search  the  world 
up  and  down;  nay,  not  even  Italy  herself,  fair 
though  she  be." 

"  Then  we'll  stay  here  together." 

"  But  London  ?  " 

"  I  care  not  for  London,  an  thou  be  not  there." 

The  man  looked  back  fondly  at  the  small,  eager 
face  against  his  shoulder. 

"  Say'st  thou  so,  lad  ;  say'st  thou  so  ? "  he 
murmured  softly,  and  his  eyes  were  very  ten- 
der. 

At  the  Swan  a  number  of  travellers,  already 
mounted,  were  waiting  before  the  door.  They 
greeted  the  new-comers  right  cheerily,  and  after 
a  few  minutes  spent  in  idle  talk  the  little  caval- 
cade set  out  on  its  journey,  clattering  down 
Bridge  Street  and  over  the  great  bridge,  and 
thence  into  the  road  which  led  to  Shipston  and 
Oxford,  and  so  winding  on  to  the  wonderful 
metropolis  itself.  Hamnet  still  continued  with 
his  father,  an  observant  listener  of  the  conversa- 
tion carried  on  between  his  elders. 

But  all  too  soon  Will  Shakespeare  dropped 
behind  the  others.  His  horse  stepped  slowly. 
There  was  no  danger  of  falling  off,  and  yet  Ham- 
net  clung  very  close,  and  the  man  put  his  hand 
over  the  little,  straining  fingers  that  were  clasped 


44          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

above  his  heart  as  if  he  would  not  let  them  go. 
So  they  rode  for  a  shor  t  space  in  silence. 

The  sun  was  up,  and  from  the  roadside  bushes 
and  the  thinning  trees  there  came  the  sound  of 
gay  bird-voices,  but  neither  man  nor  boy  heeded 
them.  Suddenly  the  horse  stopped  altogether, 
and  the  strong  fingers  undid  the  little  clinging 
ones  tenderly.  The  bridle-rein  lay  on  the  roan's 
neck,  and  the  man  turned  and  took  the  child  in 
his  arms,  kissing  him  fondly. 

"  Thou  must  go  home,"  he  said ;  "  nay  then,  I 
like  a  sunny  face.  So !  that's  my  own  true  lad. 
Cheer  the  others  too,  the  women-folk  and  the 
little  maids.  That  is  the  charge  I  give  thee." 

Hamnet  winked  back  his  tears  and  kissed  his 
father  in  return,  then  he  jumped  to  the  ground 
and  stood  leaning  against  the  quiet  horse.  Silver 
came  close  to  his  side. 

"  Do  men  never  weep,  Father?"  the  boy  asked, 
wistfully. 

"  Not  often.  We  must  be  brave,  and  the  best 
way  is  to  be  masters  of  ourselves;  and  yet  'tis  no 
harm,  sweet,  when  we  are  parting  from  those  we 
love.  'Tis  nature's  due.  Only  it  makes  it  easier  if 
we — being  the  stronger  ones — keep  a  smiling  face." 

"  But  thou  look'st  sorry  now." 

"  Ay,  and  I  am  sorry." 

"  And  though  thine  eyes  be  not  wet,  belike 
there's  a  lump  in  thy  throat  as  there  is  in  mine." 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         45 

"  Even  so,  little  lad.  I  must  hie  me  to  some 
wiseman  to  be  rid  of  it.  And  thou  must  do  the 
same.  Good  Doctor  Trust  or  Cheer — thou'lt 
know  their  dwelling.  And  I'll  tell  thee  a  secret, 
too  :  the  trees  and  the  birds  have  comfort  in  their 
keeping  for  those  who  go  and  those  who  stay." 

"  But  why  doth  the  choke  come  in  our  throats 
when  we  do  say  farewell?" 

"  'Tis  because  we  love  each  other,  dear  heart. 
And  now  stand  back  ;  I  must  not  linger." 

"  Thou'lt  come  again  ?  " 

"Again  and  again  and  again.  God  be  with 
thee,  little  lad." 

"  God  be  with  thee,  sweet  Father." 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  grandam's  name  is  little  less  in  love 
Than  is  the  doting  title  of  a  mother. 

RICHARD  III. 

SINCE    that    August     morning    almost    ten 
months    had    gone    by.      May    had    been 
ushered  in  with  all  the  usual  rites  and  had 
slipped  away  into  June.     The  fields  round  about 
Stratford    were    ablaze    with    gorgeous    scarlet 
poppies  amidst  the  yellowing  grain  ;    wild  flow- 
ers  painted   the  dark -green  thickets  with  vivid 
splashes  of  colour,  and  bits  of  feathered  happiness 
made  the  arching  trees  along  the  roads  and  in 
the  orchards  bowers  of  song. 

The  river,  too,  between  its  willow-guarded 
banks,  raised  its  blithe  voice  as  it  crawled  slowly 
by,  with  never  a  hint  in  its  laughing  murmurs  of 
those  fearful  times  when  it  had  overleaped  its 
bounds  and  had  swept,  like  some  cruel  monster, 
upon  the  little  town,  carrying  disaster  in  its 
train — a  trusty  friend  turned  on  the  sudden  into  an 
implacable  foe !  But  in  this  golden  June  weather 
it  sang  so  sweetly  among  the  sedges,  it  were  un- 
kind, surely,  to  remember  its  former  ill-doing. 

46 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Li  file  Lad         47 

Not  one  of  those  living  in  Stratford  town  but 
loved  to  ramble  by  its  side  as  it  wound  through 
the  meadows,  gleaming  with  a  thousand  laughing 
eyes  in  the  sunlight,  or  stole  away  demure  and 
quiet  to  where  the  overhanging  trees  made  an  al- 
most impenetrable  darkness.  It  was  pleasant,  too, 
to  wander  within  sound  of  its  cheery  voice  to 
Bishop's  Hampton  and  Charlecote,  or  to  stroll 
past  Trinity  and  down  Mill  Lane  to  the  path 
leading  to  Luddington,  or  to  cross  the  little  foot- 
bridge and  roam  at  will  through  the  lush  fields 
and  along  the  narrow,  overhung  pathway  of  Weir 
Brake.  So  many  places  there  were  to  visit 
throughout  the  summer  days,  it  were  no  easy 
task  to  make  a  choice. 

But  of  all  the  lovely  ways  leading  out  of  the 
small  town,  the  way  to  Shottery  was  the  loveliest, 
to  the  thinking  of  the  young  Shakespeares  and 
to  the  heart  of  their  mother.  The  small  hamlet 
was  a  short  mile  from  Stratford,  and  thither  the 
children  made  constant  pilgrimage,  traversing 
the  little  path  that  wound  across  the  meadows, 
now  beneath  the  shade  of  stately  elms  through 
which  the  sunlight  flickered  in  shifting  patterns, 
like  fine  cut-work  at  their  feet,  now  by  tangled 
hedges  where  the  flowers  nodded  a  welcome  and 
the  birds  sought  to  detain  them  with  their  songs, 
or  again  it  straggled  out  into  the  open  with  the 
wide  sky  all  about  them. 


48          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

When  Shottery  was  reached  the  path  was  ex- 
changed for  the  familiar  lane,  and  there  before 
them  stood  the  object  of  their  quest.  It  was  a 
picturesque  little  cottage  built  of  wood  and 
plaster,  ribbed  with  massive  timbers — crossed  and 
visible  all  along  its  front — and  covered  with  a 
substantial  roof  of  thatch.  The  wicket  hung 
loosely  under  the  shade  of  a  thorn,  and,  once  in- 
side the  gate,  a  line  of  stones  led  through  the 
garden  to  the  house-door.  To  the  children,  fond 
as  they  were  of  the  house  and  its  inmates,  and 
certain  always  of  a  welcome  that  filled  them  with 
a  sense  of  their  own  importance,  it  was  ever  a  de- 
light to  them  to  find  the  door  made  fast.  Mistress 
Hathaway,  waiting  eagerly  within  for  a  glimpse 
of  the  young  life  which  their  gay  voices  had  her- 
alded along  the  lane,  never  in  her  impatience 
went  to  greet  them  on  its  threshold.  She  knew 
the  pleasure  it  gave  them  to  pull  the  wooden  latch 
themselves  and  have  the  door  open  at  their  touch. 
Each  one  in  turn,  when  a  tiny  child,  had  learned 
the  secret :  '  Pull  the  string  and  you'll  get  in  ! ' 

Long  before  they  had  reached  the  stature  to 
grasp  the  bit  of  wood  which  was  nailed  on  the 
door,  some  kindly  arms  had  raised  them  to  the 
coveted  height,  and  one  chubby  hand  had  taken 
hold  of  the  wood  proudly  while  the  other  had 
pulled  the  bobbin.  Over  and  over  again  the 
door  had  responded  to  that  "  open  sesame,"  and 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         49 

on  each  occasion  joyous  gurgles  of  merriment 
filled  the  air.  They  had  gradually  outgrown 
such  expressions  of  delight,  though  the  pleasure 
of  seeking  and  obtaining  admittance  at  the  old 
door  still  remained.  Susanna,  now  that  she  was 
thirteen,  liked  to  pull  the  bobbin  in  a  grown-up 
fashion,  as  a  Court  lady  on  a  tour  of  country 
visits  would  be  minded  to  do,  while  Judith,  who 
alternately  aped  her  sister's  or  her  brother's 
ways,  was  now  a  fine  dame  approaching  the 
door  with  mincing  steps  and  much  smoothing 
out  of  her  gown  and  patting  of  her  hands,  as  if, 
forsooth,  the  latter  were  covered  with  fair-scented 
gloves  ;  or  she  would  swagger  up  like  any  saucy 
rogue,  and  rain  some  rousing  thwacks  upon  the 
wooden  surface  before  discovering  the  string. 
She  made  them  sound  almost  as  loud  as  Ham- 
net's  lusty  strokes,  so  that  Gillian  would  murmur, 
in  the  buttery  : 

"  Body  o'  me  !  an  I  could  catch  that  boy " 

Shottery  was  as  familiar  to  the  children  as  the 
town  where  they  lived  with  their  father's  people. 
They  loved  the  lanes  between  the  mossy  banks 
where  the  little  brooks  came  rushing  and  tinkling 
along,  their  gleeful  voices  making  the  green 
silences  alive  with  sound.  Oh !  those  wonder- 
ful Shottery  lanes,  with  their  wealth  of  blossoms 
which  they  could  not  hide,  nor  did  not  wish  to 
hide,  from  those  loving  young  eyes  !  The  chil- 

4 


50          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

dren  knew  well  where  to  find  '  the  ladies'  smocks 
all  silver  white,'  the  primrose  with  its  wrinkled 
leaves,  the  '  violets  dim,'  and  '  the  daffodils  that 
come  before  the  swallow  dares.'  They  knew, 
too,  where,  as  soon  as  the  birds  had  paired,  the 
arum — their  mother's  favourite — lifted  its  pointed, 
black-spotted  leaves  from  the  sides  of  the  ditches. 
She  would  often  seek  it  with  them,  and  they 
never  tired  of  hearing  her  tell  how  she  had 
sought  it  in  the  long  ago  with  their  father,  and 
what  he  had  told  her  concerning  its  way  of  grow- 
ing. And  they  would  fall  a-laughing  with  her  at 
the  dismay  she  had  caused  her  neighbours,  who, 
wise  in  herb-lore,  declared  the  arum  to  be  poison- 
ous ;  and  when  she  had  borne  some  away  with 
her,  had  said  she  was  bewitched,  because  no  ill 
effects  followed. 

But  dear  as  the  lanes  were  to  Susanna  and 
Judith,  they  appealed  more  directly  to  Hamnet's 
dreamier  nature.  He  asked  no  greater  pleasure 
than  to  roam  through  them  at  all  seasons,  with 
Silver  at  his  side,  peering  now  into  one  flower's 
face,  now  into  another's,  searching  the  tangle  of 
green  for  some  shyer  beauties,  or,  when  the 
season  was  far  advanced,  finding  some  belated 
blossoms  hidden  away  where  they  made  a  second 
summer  for  themselves,  or,  in  the  whiteness  of 
winter,  guessing  at  the  sleeping  things  locked 
close  in  the  heart  of  nature. 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         51 

The  birds,  too,  were  his  friends.  The  robin- 
redbreast,  that  haunts  the  lanes  of  Shottery,  was 
as  safe  from  harm  at  his  hands  as  though  it  were 
not  '  the  bird  of  God,'  and  the  other  little 
brothers  of  the  air  had  naught  to  fear  at  his  ap- 
proach. He  listened  to  their  songs  and  recog- 
nized each  voice.  That  was  a  concert  worth 
hearing !  The  dunnock,  from  its  home  in  the 
hedge,  uttered  its  tender  song,  now  loud,  now 
subdued,  and  yet  exceeding  mellow  ;  the  '  black- 
cap '  joined  in  with  his  deep,  rich  strain ;  the 
'  white-throat '  fluttered  from  his  gauzy  nest  in 
the  sweet-brier  bush  and  balanced  upon  a  spray, 
his  little  breast  swelling  with  music  ;  the '  proud- 
tailor,'  from  the  tangled,  weed-choked  thicket, 
where  grew  the  thistles  which  formed  his  chief 
diet,  sang  his  part ;  and  the  other  lane-birds,  the 
throstle,  chaffinch,  greenfinch,  yellow-hammer, 
and  the  modest  little  wren,  each  had  its  note  to 
add.  From  the  copses  came  the  sound  of  the 
nickle,  tap-tap-tapping  at  the  trees,  ancfthe  mourn- 
ful cries  of  the  queecer. 

Much  of  his  knowledge  of  birds,  Hamnet  had 
derived  from  his  father  when  together  they 
roamed  about  the  country,  the  tall  man  making 
stories  for  the  gladly  listening  ears  of  the  little 
lad  at  his  side.  It  was  an  additional  zest  to  the 
child  to  study  the  ways  of  his  feathered  friends, 
that  he  might  thus  be  enabled  to  tell  his  father 


52          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

on  each  recurring  visit.  He  could  imitate  their 
notes  with  an  exactness  that  was  well-nigh 
marvellous,  and  he  would  often  answer  the  dif- 
ferent calls  as  if  the  greetings  were  intended 
alone  for  him. 

It  so  befell  that  that  June,  in  the  year  1 596,  Anne 
Shakespeare  and  her  children  were  staying  a  few 
days  at  Shottery,  much  to  the  satisfaction  of 
good  Mistress  Hathaway,  who  was  apt  to  grow 
lonely  and  a  trifle  peevish  at  times.  If  she  could 
have  had  her  will  she  would  have  kept  the  little 
ones  with  her  always — a  proceeding  to  which  the 
grandmother  in  town  would  not  hearken  for  an 
instant. 

"La,  Anne,"  Mistress  Hathaway  said,  as  she 
and  her  daughter  sat  together  at  the  close  of  day, 
"  I  see  no  reason  why  thou  and  the  children 
should  not  tarry  here  till  Michaelmas.  Mistress 
Shakespeare  hath  her  good  man  for  company, 
though  ill-fortune  hath  soured  him  sorely — an 
honest  soul  as  thou'dst  find  on  a  summer's  day, 
and  a  kind,  but  thriftless — thriftless,  and  over  fond 
o'  show !  Marry !  'tis  a  grievous  world  to  see. 
He  had  ever  a  pretty  turn  to's  wit,  and  well  I  re- 
member the  praise  he  gave  me  for  my  cowslip 
wine.  'Twould  have  painted  my  cheeks  tarna- 
tion had  I  not  known  that  no  better  was  ever 
brewed  in  all  Warwickshire.  Od's  pitikins  !  that 
he  should  have  fallen  on  such  evil  times — a  man 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         53 

with  so  ready  a  tongue  in  's  head,  and  such  an 
incrimination  o'  good  things.  But  alack  !  alack ! 
time  hath  changes  for  us  all,  and  he's  grown  the 
silentest  man  in  the  varsal  world." 

"  F  faith,  not  so,  good  Mother.  He  goeth  not 
much  abroad,  as  once  he  did,  but  for  long  there 
was  the  fear  o'  the  ill  his  creditors  would  work 
him,  and  now  that  that  fear's  ta'en  away,  he  hath 
fallen  into  the  habit  o'  staying  at  home." 

"  Ay !  and  into  the  habit  o'  being  mum,  I 
promise  thee.  That's  what  overmuch  staying  by 
one's  hearth  breeds — silence — silence.  The  tongue 
rusts  from  lack  o'  use !  An  the  stream  be  dry 
by  the  mill,  then  'tis  vain  carrying  grist  thither. 
The  last  time  I  met  John  Shakespeare  he'd  but  a 
word  to  say :  '  Give  ye  good-morrow,  good  Mis- 
tress Hathaway.'  That  was  suffigance,  and  so  he 
passed  on.  Soul  o'  me  !  I  wot  well  the  rencoun- 
ters we  were  wont  to  have  when  he'd  chat  and 
chat,  so  'twould  be  hard  to  put  in  even  a  '  hem/ 
and  always  some  mention  o'  the  cowslip  wine  be- 
fore he  went.  And  now,  I  might  never  have  made 
'the  best  in  Warwickshire'  —  'twas  his  very 
phrase — ay  !  and  still  do  ;  there's  no  divergence, 
save  it  be  in  the  bettering — for  all  that  some  folks 
remember." 

"  He  hath  not  forgot,  good  Mother.  Twas  only 
yestreen,  when  I  told  him  we  were  coming  hither 
for  a  little  stay,  that  he  said,  smacking  his  lips  : 


54          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

'There  be  many  changes,  but  I  remember  an 
'twere  yesterday  the  very  first  time  I  tasted  Mis- 
tress Hathaway's  cowslip  wine.  She's  a  famous 
housekeeper,'  quoth  he,  '  and  no  one  can  make 
you  a  finer  warden-pie  come  shearing-time.'  " 

"  Tut !  tut !  and  that  before  his  own  good  wife, 
too." 

"  Oh  !  my  Mother  Shakespeare  was  not  by ;  she 
had  gone  a  walk  with  Hamnet." 

"  Hm  !  But  very  like  he  hath  said  it  in  her  hear- 
ing  oft.  Dost  think  he  hath  ?  Men  have  no  con- 
cernment !  I  would  not  have  the  creature's  feel- 
ings hurt,  and  yet  Mistress  Shakespeare's  pies  are 
too  pale — she's  chary  wi'  the  saffron.  Methinks 
the  taste  o*  mine  is  vastly  inferior ;  but  go  to — 
when  thou  goest  back  to  Stratford  I'll  give  thee 
a  bottle  o'  wine  for  Master  Shakespeare  ;  he  was 
ever  a  man  o'  most  unwarrantable  taste." 

The  two  women  were  sitting  side  by  side  on  an 
oaken  bench  in  the  arbour.  It  was  a  favourite 
place  with  Anne,  for  here,  years  before,  she  and 
her  young  lover  used  to  meet.  A  walk,  shut  in  by 
tall  box,  led  round  the  garden  to  the  arbour,  which 
was  also  formed  of  box  and  was  screened  from 
view  by  a  high  hedge.  'Twas  a  quiet  spot  to  rest 
in,  with  one's  work  and  one's  thoughts  of  those 
happy,  happy  days,  while  just  without  the  flow- 
ers nodded  in  the  sun  and  made  the  air  sweet 
with  their  perfume.  Anne  drew  her  needle  in 


Will  Shakespeares  Little  Lacf         55 

and  out  of  the  fine  fabric  which  she  was  embroid- 
ering with  Coventry  blue,  a  little  smile  dancing 
in  her  lowered  eyes.  Her  mother  leaned  forward 
curiously  and  took  up  an  end  of  the  linen  be- 
tween her  thumb  and  forefinger. 

"  What  gear  is  this  ?  "  she  asked,  after  a  moment. 

"  'Tis  a  shirt  for  Hamnet,  my  Mother." 

"  Hamnet — Hamnet — Hamnet,"  grumbled  the 
old  woman ;  "  I  do  detest,  you  be  all  stark  mad 
about  the  lad.  The  other  day  when  I  saw  Mis- 
tress Shakespeare  she  was  knitting  a  pair  o' 
stockings  o'  finest  yarn,  wi'  quirks  and  clocks 
about  the  ankles  fit  for  a  lord.  '  Who  be  these 
for?'  quoth  I.  'For  my  dear  Hamnet/  quoth 
she.  And  at  that  I  was  exceeding  wroth.  I'd  a 
pair  in  my  poke  that  I'd  knit  speciously  for  the 
lad  out  o'  good  Warwickshire  wool,  spun  by  these 
very  hands,  and  all  my  work  had  gone  for  naught. 
My  cake  was  dough  !  What !  an  thou  lettest  the 
lad  go  tricked  in  such  fashion  he'll  have  no  care 
for  plainer  things,  and  that's  the  certain  o'  it !  I'll 
not  have  my  gift  scorned,  and  so  I'll  e'en  purvey 
it  elsewhere." 

"  Not  so,  sweet  Mother;  the  stockings  must  be 
for  Hamnet,  as  thou  first  intended,  and  right  glad 
will  he  be  to  have  them.  The  ones  his  Grandam 
Shakespeare  is  making  are  for  his  Sunday  best." 

"  I  trow  so.  La,  mine  are  but  every-day  affairs  ; 
he'll  not  use  them  overmuch." 


56          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

"  In  sooth  he  will,  six  times  as  much  as  the 
others,  when  thou  remember'st  there  are  six  com- 
mon days  to  the  one  Sunday.  Thou'lt  give  them 
him ;  there's  a  good  grandam  !  But  think  not  I 
favour  him  more  than  the  little  wenches.  I'm 
e'en  making  them  smocks  set  about  wi*  cut- 
work." 

"  Vanity  !  Vanity  !  A  touch  o*  broidery  on  a 
boy's  shirt  comes  not  amiss,  but  a  maid's  head 
is  soon  turned  with  such  gawds.  Where  didst 
get  this  stuff  ?  'Tis  most  marvellous  fine  ;  the 
greatest  thread  therein  is  not  so  big  as  the  small- 
est hair.  Was  it  from  London  ?  " 

"Nay,  then,  I  got  it  May-day  from  the  pedler 
who  had  it  in  's  pack.  He  said  it  came  from 
France,  from  a  place  called  Cambrai — a  heathen- 
ish place,  marry,  where  they  speak  no  English. 
But  be  the  folks  heathen  or  no  heathen,  they 
make  right  pleasing  stuff.  'Tis  mightily  favoured 
at  the  Court ;  the  Queen  herself  hath  her  ruffs 
made  therefrom." 

"  An  thou  copiest  the  Queen  and  her  wardrobe 
thy  husband  will  be  sore  put  to  getting  money 
for  thy  extravagances.  'Tis  out  o'  all  whooping 
that  a  daughter  o'  mine  should  flitter  her  sub- 
stance like  this.  Thou'lt  be  wearing  all  crimson 
next !  But  town  ways  are  town  ways,  and  every 
gossip  must  go  better  pranked  than  her  neigh- 
bour. 'Twould  never  have  happed,  I  warrant 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         57 

me,  an  thou  hadst  lived  the  year  round  at  Shot- 
tery.  Here  thou  couldst  save  thy  angels  ;  here 
there  be  no  folderols." 

"  La,  an  thou  chid'st  me  so,  I'll  e'en  give  the 
partlet  I've  made  thee  o'  this  same  cambric  to 
my  dear  Mother  Shakespeare ;  'twill  become  her 

won " 

"  A  partlet,  say'st  thou  ?  Now  blessings  on  thy 
heart  for  it !  Hast  brought  it  wi*  thee  ?  Nay, 
nay,  I  detest,  I  spoke  but  in  mirth." 

"  Ay,  good  Mother,  the  partlet  is  in  my  cham- 
ber, but  'tis  not  finished.  Susanna  hath  besought 
me  to  let  her  make  it  brave  with  broidery." 

"  She'll  not  spoil  it,  will  she  ?  'Twere  a  pity, 
and  it  such  fine  stuff  and  not  its  like  in  Shottery 
village.  I'll  be  in  tirrits  and  frights  till  it  be 
done.  Prythee  now,  say  thou  wilt  do  the  finish- 
ing thyself,  dear  wench.  The  child  is  over  young 
to  be  trusted  wi'  such  work." 

"  Fear  not,  my  Mother ;  I'd  trust  Sue  to  make  a 
forepart  for  the  Queen.  There's  not  a  lass  any- 
where that  is  handier  with  her  needle.  She  can 

do  you  fernstitch " 

"And  Spanish,  rosemary,  and  queen  —  that's 
four — besides  cross-stitch,  chain,  and  newback," 
cried  a  laughing  voice. 

"  Out  upon  thee,  thou  young  baggage !  "  Mis- 
tress Hathaway  exclaimed,  turning  with  a  start, 
to  be  confronted  by  Susanna's  dimpling  cheeks. 


58          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

"  Out  upon  thee !  We've  an  adage  here  about 
listeners." 

"  It  came  not  true  then,  for  I  heard  naught  but 
good,  as  how  should  it  be  else  when  my  sweet 
mother  speaks  o'  me — ay,  and  my  grandam  too  ? " 

"  Forget  it  all — forget  it  all !  '  Praise  to  the 
face  is  open  disgrace.' " 

"  Tis  passing  strange,"  sighed  little  Judith,  as 
she  nestled  against  her  grandmother,  "  that  praise 
should  be  so  sweet !  I  can  always  do  thrice  as 
well  when  someone  cries  '  How  nice ! '  And 
when  I  go  abroad  it  maketh  the  day  sunnier  if  my 
good  mother  kisseth  me  and  saith  I'm  her  own 
dear  mouse,  and  '  there's  not  a  prettier  little  lass 
in  Warwickshire.'  " 

"  Tilly  vally  !  Is  this  thine  upbringing  ?  Pretty 
quotha !  What's  pretty  ?  Thou  shouldst  not 
know  the  insignificance  o'  the  word.  I  marvel, 
Anne,  thou  art  so  fond  !  The  child  is  over  young 
for  such  thoughts — she  should  not  be  told — 'tis 
all  too  soon  a  maid  findeth  her  way  to  the  look- 
ing-glass." 

"  Is't  that  we  be  born  so,  Grandam  ?  Verily, 
no  one  hath  told  me  what  pretty  means.  My 
Grandmother  Shakespeare  and  my  dear  mother 
are  pretty,  and  Susanna,  too,  and  methinks 
thou'rt  pretty  an  that  thy  lips  be  smiling  as  even 
now.  But  Gillian  is  not  pretty,  and  'tis  better 
to  say  that  softly,  that  she  may  not  hear.  She's 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         59 

very  ugly  to  look  upon,  and  yet  she  maketh  such 
brave,  brave  marchpane.  And  so  I  tell  her — 
there's  no  harm  in  that,  is  there,  Grandam  ?  ~  It 
pleaseth  her  so." 

"  No  harm  at  all.  Marry,  thou'rt  a  wise  coun- 
sellor and  a  pretty  one.  A  little  injudicious 
praise  is  good  sometimes ;  but  I  pray  Gillian's 
head  be  not  turned  ;  she  needeth  watching — she 
needeth  watching.  She  is  slow  o'  reprehension, 
too,  and  thou'dst  never  believe  how  long  I  was 
teaching  her  to  make  that  same  marchpane.  By 
night  and  day  still  was  I  at  it,  and  e'en  now  must  I 
caution  her  that  she  putteth  not  in  too  much  sugar. 
The  wench  leadeth  me  a  very  frampold  life.  Well- 
a-day !  we  must  bear  what  God  willeth  and  never 
repine,  though  it  giveth  us  sore  heartache.  But 
go  to,  I  must  show  thee  how  to  make  some  kick- 
shaws. Woul't  like  to  learn?" 

"  So  much,  so  very  much.  When  shall  it  be  ? 
Now?" 

"  Nay,  not  now,  for  'tis  nigh  trencher-time. 
Thou'lt  get  naught  but  frumenty  this  even." 

"  I  like  thy  frumenty." 

"  And  mayhap  a  spoonful  o'  custard.  I'll  give 
thee  destructions  in  the  morning." 

"  I  shall  not  sleep  with  the  thinking  o'  it;  and 
Susanna  must  help.  Wilt  thou,  sweet  Sue  ?  And 
Madam  mother  must  not  know  until  it  be  done. 
Shall  it  be " 


60          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

There  was  a  long  whisper  in  Mistress  Hatha- 
way's  ear,  followed  by  a  peal  of  laughter. 

"  Susanna  doth  know  already  how  to  make  so 
many  things,  "  Judith  went  on,  nodding  over  at 
her  sister. 

"  Ay,  Susanna  is  a  good  housewife,"  her  mother 
said,  smiling  fondly,  "  as  thou  wilt  be,  my  little 
mouse,  when  thou  hast  left  Dame  Perrot's 
charge." 

"  And  how  much  longer  doth  the  schooling 
last?" 

"  Only  this  summer,  sweet  Grandmother.  I  be 
eleven  now,  and  too  old  for  school.  Already  I 
can  do  divers  goodly  stitches  ;  not  so  many  as  Sue, 
for  she  knoweth  more  than  she  said  just  now ;  and 
not  so  smooth,  but  that  will  come,  they  say.  I've 
made  a  gown,  too,  for  my  mammet,  though  that 
was  not  done  in  school.  There  I  work  my 
sampler,  and  good  Mistress  Perrot  praised  it  be- 
fore all  the  others.  And  I  can  read  a  little, 
though  I  must  e'en  go  slow  over  the  bigger 
words,  and  write — hm !  not  overwell.  Mistress 
Perrot  doth  oft  chide  me  because  I  roll  my 
tongue  about  when  I  make  the  letters,  but  'tis 
the  greatest  help  in  this  varsal  world." 

"  The  greatest  help  !  pow-wow  !  Who  ever 
heard  o'  such  a  thing?  What  say'st  thou, 
Sue?" 

The  older  girl  was  seated  on  the  arbour-step, 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         61 

with  her  elbows  on  her  knees  and  her  chin  rest- 
ing in  the  hollow  formed  by  her  hands.  She 
looked  up,  as  her  grandmother  addressed  her, 
with  a  little  frown  upon  her  brow. 

"  Why,  I  tell  Jude  'tis  arrant  nonsense,  but  she 
will  still  be  talking.  I  mind  her  no  more  than 
summer  flies ;  there  need  be  no  such  pother  about 
writing — 'tis  easy  enow.  But,  Grandam,  I  think 
it  is  not  just  that  girls  should  learn  so  little.  I'd 
like  to  go  to  school  longer  and  read  books  and 
books.  I  want  to- learn  the  tongues  as  Hamnet 
doth " 

"  Tut!  tut !  one  tongue  is  enow  for  a  woman; 
it  serveth  her  better  than  a  man's  doth  any  day, 
wi'  all  his  requirements.  The  parson  doth  ever 
chide  us  for  overmuch  talking.  Thou'rt  wrong, 
Susanna,  to  want  more  learning.  Learning  is  a 
parlous  thing  for  one  o'  thy  sex.  Go  to !  thou 
canst  read  a  little  and  write  a  little,  and  that's 
more,  i'  faith,  than  I  can  do,  and  I  haven't  found 
the  world  a  hard  place  to  get  on  in  these  three 
score  years  and  ten.  'Tis  right  for  men  to  be 
candle-wasters,  an  they  have  the  wit ;  but,  hark 
'ee  now,  who'd  look  after  the  puddings  and  the 
meats,  an  the  women  aped  their  masters  ?  Let 
the  girls  keep  away  from  books  and  learn  to  bake 
and  brew  and  sew,  say  I ;  schooling  is  not  for 
them." 

"  Nay,  then,  Grandam,  I  see  not  why  I  should 


62          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

not  study  the  same  as  boys  do.  'T would  be 
wondrous  pleasant,  methinks,  to  be  able  to  read 
the  books  that  are  printed  in  London  town.  The 
Queen  now  is  very  learned." 

"  The  Queen  is— the  Queen  !  " 

"  The  Queen  is  just  a  woman,  after  all!" 

"  Peace,  peace,  thou  speaketh  treason.  She  is 
the  Lord's  anointed." 

"  In  truth,  I  would  not  be  unmannerly  to  thee, 
Grandam,  but  she  is  a  mere  woman — a  plain 
woman,  my  father  saith." 

"  Thy  father's  tongue  will  bring  him  into  mis- 
chief and  to  the  Tower,  an  he  be  not  careful. 
Many  have  been  clapped  there  for  less  than 
that !  Speak  not  so  loud,  I  do  beseech  thee. 
Here's  Gillian  come  to  reform  us  'tis  supper-time. 
I  pray  she  heard  thee  not !  'twould  be  all  over 
Shottery,  an  she  had — she  is  a  very  tattling  wench. 
I  mislike  her  smile ;  'tis  too  wise,  by  far.  Come, 
come,  let's  go  in.  Pray  God  she  heard  thee  not ! 
Where's  Hamnet?" 

"  We  left  him  playing  at  cherry-pits,  but  he  was 
going  to  help  Thomas  fold  the  sheep." 

"Then  he's  at  the  house  before  us,"  Mistress 
Shakespeare  interposed  with  a  laugh,  "  for  I  hear 
Thomas  singing  '  I  mun  be  married  o'  Sunday  ! ' 
Mercy  on  us !  how  long  he  hath  sung  that  tune. 
When  I  had  fewer  years  than  thou,  Judith,  lass,  I 
mind  me  hearing  him  drawl  it  out  in  just  the  same 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         63 

fashion  at  harvest-time ;  ay,  and  indeed  all  through 
the  years : 

'  I  mun — I  mun  be  married  o'  Sunday.' " 

"  And  was  he  married  on  that  day  ?  " 

"  Not   so,  duck ;  he's   still  a   bachelor.     Great 

talkers  are  little  doers,  saith  the  proverb.     Marry, 

that's  a  true  word." 


CHAPTER   V 

Welcome  hither 
As  is  the  spring  to  the  earth. 

A  WINTER'S  TALE. 

0,  this  boy 
Lends  mettle  to  us  all ! 

HENRY  IV.  (Part  I.) 

"    A    RT  all  alone,  good  Grandam  ?  " 

L\        "Yea,  dear  lad,  all  alone.     Thy  grand- 
father hath   gone   to   Snitterfield   to   see 
Uncle  Henry,  and  I  have  been  by  myself  since 
early    morn.     But    come    hither,    come    hither; 
thou'rt  welcome,  and  Silver  too." 

"  And  hast  thou  missed  us  much  ? "  the  boy 
asked,  as  he  leaned  over  Mistress  Shakespeare's 
chair  to  kiss  her. 

"  What,  Master  Vanity,  dost  think  I've  been 
sighing  here  all  this  while  for  a  glimpse  o'  thy 
bright  eyes?  I've  other  things  to  do." 

"  La  !  Silver  and  I  know  better,"  Hamnet  cried, 
triumphantly.  "  I'll  warrant  me  thou  hast  looked 
up  the  road  and  down  the  road  a  score  o'  times 
this  day  to  see  us  coming.  And  now  thou  art  so 
glad,  eyes  and  mouth  laugh  for  very  joy." 

64 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         65 

"  Go  to,  for  a  mass  o'  conceit !  As  if  thy  com- 
ing meant  so  much  to  me  !  Why — why — thou 
art  a  very  wizard,  then,  and  canst  read  a  body's 
thoughts." 

She  put  her  arm  about  him  and  drew  him  close, 
stroking  his  bright  hair  and  glowing  cheeks 
fondly. 

"  Methought  thou  wouldst  never  come,"  she  said, 
with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice.  "  A  score  o'  times, 
didst  say  ?  Marry,  I  kept  no  count,  though  me- 
thinks  'twas  liker  an  hundred.  Up  and  down — 
up  and  down — I  could  not  stay  at  my  work,  and 
every  tiny  speck  in  the  distance  methought  was 
thee.  '  And  this  time  surely,'  I  would  say  ;  but 
the  speck  would  come  nearer  and  nearer  and  be 
some  neighbour,  or  mayhap  a  stranger,  or  a  child. 
'  O'  Thursday  he  promised  to  be  here,'  I  told  my- 
self, '  and  this  is  Thursday — and — and '  " 

"  Thou  hadst  me  drowned  in  Avon,  or  seized 
by  a  sixpenny-striker,  or  lured  away  by  the  fairies, 
I  wis ! " 

"  Never  mind  what  I  thought  so  that  thou  art 
here  at  last.  But  art  borrowing  manners  from 
the  Court  ?  Art  going  to  leave  a  fond  lady  to 
sigh  for  thee,  so  that  she  will  love  thee  the  better 
for  her  longing?  Thou'lt  never  be  a  promise- 
breaker,  I  trow,  with  those  honest  eyes." 

"  Never,  Gran,  never.  I  would  have  come 
faster,  but  there  were  these  flowers  to  gather  for 
5 


66  Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

thee ;  and  then  I  met  good  Sir  Richard  i'  the 
woods,  and  1  needs  must  stop  and  talk  with  him." 

"  And  what  said  he  ?  " 

"  Nay  then,  I  must  borrow  me  that  giant's 
mouth  father  told  us  of  to  tell  you  all.  But 
chiefest  was  this :  he  hath  some  new  books  come 
from  London  town,  and  I  may  go  to  look  at  them 
and  read  them,  an  I  list,  any  time  I  may  come,  and 
Silver  too ;  he  likes  to  have  us  by." 

"Ay,  I  warrant  me  he  doth,  and  so  do  other 
people.  But  how  didst  leave  thy  other  grandam, 
good  Mistress  Hathaway,  and  how  be  the  rest?  " 

"  Why,  well,  passing  well.  Judith  would  have 
come  with  me  this  day,  but  my  grandmother  is 
e'en  showing  her  how  to  make  a  gooseberry  tart 
• — she  will  make  it  with  the  lattice-work,  like  the 
meat-pies  at  Christmas — and  Susanna  stayeth  to 
help  her." 

"And  thy  mother?" 

"  My  mother  sitteth  in  the  arbour  and  singeth  at 
her  stitchery.  'Tis  very  pleasant  there." 

"  Paint  me  a  picture  o'  it  all." 

The  boy  knelt  down  at  the  woman's  side  and 
threw  his  arm  across  her  lap,  looking  up  into  her 
face  with  a  laugh.  Silver  lay  at  a  little  distance, 
his  head  resting  between  his  paws,  his  large,  sad 
eyes  fixed  upon  his  master.  The  casement  was 
open  and  a  climbing  rose  turned  from  the  sun- 
shine  without  to  peer  curiously  in  at  the  pretty 


"  Paint  me  a  picture  o'  it  all. 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         67 

scene.  It  was  very  cool  and  pleasant  in  the  low 
room.  The  vine  at  the  window  cast  a  graceful, 
flickering  pattern  of  dark,  nodding  leaves  upon 
the  stone  flagging,  which  had  been  freshly  scoured 
only  that  morn  and  then  finished  off  with  a  wash- 
ing of  milk  The  pattern  was  prettier  by  far 
than  the  simple  border  of  chalk  which  ran  round 
the  floor.  There  was  no  fire  in  the  wide  fire- 
place, though  it  was  laid  ready  for  lighting,  and 
the  kettle  hung  by  its  long  chain  from  the  guy- 
pole  in  the  chimney,  its  cheery,  sputtering  voice 
silent  for  the  once.  At  one  side  was  an  oaken 
dresser,  where  the  pewter  mugs  and  platters  with 
some  treen  trenchers  and  bowls  stood  a -row. 
There  was  little  other  furniture  in  the  room — a 
long  settle,  whose  wooden  hardness  was  concealed 
by  a  cushion  stuffed  with  rags ;  several  joint 
stools ;  a  chair  or  two,  and  a  table  of  the  plainest 
construction,  with  the  flap  let  down.  In  one  cor- 
ner stood  Mistress  Shakespeare's  spinning-wheel, 
and  on  the  window  ledge  near  the  small  willow 
cage,  wherein  a  bird  chirped  contentedly,  was  a 
low  basket  containing  balls  of  different  coloured 
crewels. 

The  walls  were  freshly  whitened,  and  on  them 
hung  some  samplers — the  work  of  Mistress  Mary 
Shakespeare  and  her  favourite  sisters,  Alys  and 
Joyce — dimmed  by  the  touch  of  the  passing  years. 
One  a  trifle  less  faded — the  first  that  had  been 


68          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

wrought  by  Joan  Shakespeare — was  placed  by  the 
side  of  a  half-completed  one  which  little  Anne  had 
never  had  the  time  to  finish,  and  just  below  them, 
glowing  with  bright,  fresh  colours,  like  a  bit  out 
of  their  own  young  lives,  were  the  latest  examples 
of  the  skill  of  Susanna  and  Judith.  The  walls, 
besides,  were  adorned  with  '  painted  cloths '  il- 
lustrating the  story  of  Joseph's  rise  to  power  and 
the  Seven  Ages  of  Man — these  latter  a  portion 
of  Mary  Arden's  dowry.  There  were  maxims, 
too :  '  Neither  a  borrower  nor  a  lender  be,'  '  Do 
no  man  any  wrong,'  '  Be  good  unto  the  poor.' 
Hamnet  scarcely  ever  regarded  these  now, 
though  there  was  a  time  when  he  had  delighted 
to  read  them  again  and  again. 

The  little  street  without  was  sweet  with  the  per- 
fume of  the  flowers  in  the  garden  and  the  scent 
of  hay  from  the  fields.  There  were  mowers  at 
work  in  a  near-by  meadow  among  the  clovers. 
'Twas  very  still  save  for  the  singing  of  the  birds 
in  the  orchard-trees,  the  hum  of  bees  among  the 
straw-bound  hives  by  the  garden-wall,  and  the 
occasional  burst  of  song  or  laughter  from  the 
men  pausing  at  their  task. 

Mistress  Shakespeare  looked  at  the  merry  up- 
turned face. 

"  Nay,  laggard,  begin,  begin,"  she  said,  fondly. 

"  Shall  I  so  ?  Then  first — but  thou  know'st  the 
place  as  well  as  I,  'tis  only  to  keep  me  talking — 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         69 

there  is  the  little  path  that  leadeth  through  the 
garden,  past  the  well,  where  the  water  is  the 
coldest  o'  any  in  Warwickshire,  I  trow,  and  oh, 
Gran,  the  garden  is  pranked  fair  with  growing 
flowers — roses  and  the  maiden's-blush  and  wood- 
bine, columbine,  the  crown  imperial,  lad's-love, 
and  lilies  o'  all  kind,  and  rosemary — here's  some 
for  thee  ;  'tis  for  remembrance,  so  keep  it  close. 
Then  cometh  the  apple  orchard,  all  filled  with 
knolls  and  hollows,  and  it  goeth  up  the  hill  a 
little  ways ;  then  next  is  the  cottage  garden,  where 
the  melons  are  ripening  and  the  apricots  along 
the  sunny  wall  are  almost  ready  for  picking. 
And  beyond  that  is  the  other  orchard — oh,  thou 
know'st  how  the  tiny  path  goeth  like  a  bit  o' 
yellow  inkle  between  the  box-hedges  and  amongst 
the  long  grasses.  There  are  many  goodly  herbs 
on  all  sides :  rosemary  again  and  celandine — how 
blue  it  is !  'tis  like  the  sky,  methinks,  at  mid-day 
— and  fennel  and  mint,  and  herb  o'  grace.  There's 
a  bank  o'  thyme,  too,  and  dew-berries,  Gran,  the 
dew -berries  so  monstrous  big  —  they  be  better 
there  than  anywhere." 

"  Methinks  there  are  as  fine  dew-berries  to  be 
found  here  in  Stratford  and  out  Wilmcote  way  ; 
but  I  know  how  it  is  with  thee,  there's  no  place 
so  brave  as  Shottery  garden." 

Hamnet  laughed  exultantly. 

"  And  my  Grandmother  Hathaway  chideth  me 


70          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

for  thinking  the  Henley  Street  garden  the  best. 
She  is  ever  plaguing  me  to  say  which  one  I  hold 
the  liefest,  and  when  I  put  her  off  and  say  '  I  cannot 
tell,'  she  frowneth  and  saith  that  is  no  answer ;  but 
she  is  only  in  jest,  for  she  laughs  the  next  minute." 

"And  which  dost  love  the  best?  " 

"  Nay,  thou'rt  like  my  Grandam  Hathaway, 
and — I  cannot  tell — I  love  them  both." 

"  But  where  wouldst  rather  be — here  in  Strat- 
ford, or  over  in  Shottery  ?  " 

"  Now  Gran,  sweet  Gran — 'twas  only  last  night 
my  other  grandmother  asked  that  very  question, 
only  she  said  she  knew — she's  wiser  than  thou  art." 

"  And  what  said  she  ?" 

"  She  said  she  knew  I  would  liefer  be  here  with 
thee." 

"  And  then,  what  didst  thou  say — thou  wert 
not  unmannerly?" 

"  I'  faith,  not  I,  when  she  was  so  good  as  to 
bake  me  a  whole  batch  o'  little  seed-cakes ;  she 
would  not  let  Gillian  so  much  as  touch  one — she 
made  them  all  with  her  own  hands,  and  brought 
them  to  me." 

"  But  what  saidst  thou  ?  " 

" '  Give  thee  good  thanks,  sweet  Mistress  Hath- 
away.' " 

"  Nay,  I  meant  not  that.  How  didst  answer 
her  question?" 

"  I  told  her  I  loved  her  cakes." 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         71 

"  Mistress  Hathaway  was  ever  skilled  for  her 
cookery ;  but  stir  thyself,  and  there  on  the  dress- 
er thou'lt  find  what  thou  wilt  find.  Tis  beneath 
that  napkin  there." 

Hamnet  came  back  to  his  place  a  moment  later 
bearing  a  bowl  filled  with  pepper-gingerbread  cut 
out  in  fantastic  shapes.  Silver  sat  up  on  his 
haunches,  a  sudden  interest  dawning  in  his  mel- 
ancholy eyes,  as  if,  after  all,  life  were  worth  the 
living ;  he  licked  his  chops  with  a  quivering,  ex- 
pectant  tongue,  and  the  next  instant  his  jaws 
closed  over  a  toothsome  morsel. 

"  'Tis  good,  isn't  it,  Silver?  "  Hamnet  mumbled, 
with  his  own  mouth  full.  He  deposited  the  dish 
on  the  floor  and  sat  down  again  by  his  grand- 
mother's knee,  reaching  up  the  prettiest  device 
to  her.  He  drew  it  back  and  inspected  it  closely. 
'Twas  a  little  fat  bulging  heart,  with  two  letters 
intertwined  on  one  side.  Mistress  Shakespeare 
regarded  him  with  shining  eyes. 

"Tis  an  '  H,'"  the  boy  said,  following  the 
lines  with  his  finger,  "  and  this  other  is  an  '  S.' 
And  what  may  they  stand  for,  good  Grandam — 
Hamnet  Shakespeare  ?  Or,  as  'tis  my  heart,  they 
may  mean  '  His  Shottery '  or  '  His  Stratford  ' — 
which  ?  " 

"  Methinks,  sirrah,  thou  didst  offer  that  cake  to 
me,  and,  as  'tis  mine,  I  read  the  letters  with  a  dif- 
ference. The  '  S  '  cometh  first." 


72          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

"  The  '  S  '  cometh  first  ?  Oh,  ho  !  What  an  the 
schoolmaster  were  by  to  hear  thy  criss-cross 
row  ?  " 

"  They  signify  '  Sweet  Heart.'  Here,  give  it 
me,  and  now  take  it  from  my  hands,  and,  an  thou 
wilt  have  the  letters  come  in  their  rightful  order, 
let  the  reading  be  'Her  Sweet-heart!'  How 
doth  it  taste  ?  Is  it  as  good  as  the  seed-cake  ?  I 
do  remember  me  what  excellent  seed-cakes  thy 
Grandam  Hathaway  maketh.  And  were  they 
brown  and  crisp  ?  " 

"  When  I  did  eat  them  methought  they  were 
the  best  cakes  that  e'er  I  tasted,"  Hamnet  de- 
clared, in  a  muffled  tone ;  then  he  added,  as  her 
face  fell,  "  and,  now,  methinks  these  are  the  best." 

"  'Tis  like  thy  feeling  for  Shottery — when  thou 
art  there  'tis  thy  favourite  place,  and  when  thou 
comest  to  live  i'  Stratford  this  is  thy  favourite. 
Verily,  thou  hast  a  man's  heart  in  a  boy's  body,  I 
trow.  It  taketh  on  many  images,  and  the  last  is 
always  the  best." 

"  Nay,  not  so,  Grandam.  Here,  Silver,  old  fel- 
low, catch!  I  love  Shottery  with  one  part  o'  me, 
and  that  for  many  reasons.  Imprimis :  because  'tis 
where  I  was  born,  and  where  my  dear  mother 
was  born.  Secundis  :  because  'tis  so  beautiful.  I 
love  all  the  country  about  the  village ;  there  are 
so  many  birds  in  the  hedges,  and  the  flowers  are  so 
fair — they  are  the  children  and  the  grandchildren 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         73 

o'  the  flowers  my  sweet  father  loved,  when  he 
used  to  wander  through  those  self-same  fields. 
Sure,  never  did  birds  sing  sweeter  than  in  the 
Shottery  lanes,  and  he,  away  in  London  town, 
can  hear  them  singing  still — he  hath  told  me  so 
himself.  Tertias " 

"  Thy  talk  soundeth  like  the  sermon  which 
they  say  the  preacher  gave  from  the  Market 
Cross  o'  Sunday." 

"  And  I  meant  it  to,  but  an  thou  bring'st  me  out, 
I  must  serve  thee  as  he  did  Goodman  Barnes- 
hurste.  Hast  heard  o'that?  No?  Ha,  ha!  I'm 
glad  to  be  the  first  to  tell  it  thee,  and  thou  must 
tell  it  to  my  grandfather  when  he  cometh  home. 
Thomas  Whittington  was  there,  and  he  told  us 
the  tale  —  how  that  Sir  Preacher  was  slow  o' 
speech,  and  monstrous  dull,  so  that  the  people 
were  fair  nodding  with  sleep.  And  he  paid  no 
heed  to  the  hour-glass  by  's  side,  but  went  on  wi' 
his  firstly,  and  his  secondly,  and  his  thirdly,  and 
never  a  word  that  the  people  could  take  home  to 
themselves.  So  that  at  last  a  voice  called  out : 
'  Give  us  the  mate — give  us  the  mate  ! '  At  which 
Sir  Preacher  leaned  him  forward  and  fixed  Die- 
con  Barneshurste  with  a  mighty  frown,  like  this, 
and,  quoth  he,  in  a  voice  o'  thunder :  '  I'll  gi'e  ye 
the  mate,  I  warrant,  but  I'll  tend  to  the  carving 
myself.'  Nay,  then,  those  were  his  very  words. 
So  thou  must  e'en  let  me  take  my  own  way  in  tell- 


74          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

ing  my  story,  Gran,  and  hearken  to  my  thirdly, 
'tis  most  important." 

He  sank  his  voice  to  a  whisper. 

"  I'm  sure  and  Judith  is  sure  and  so  is  Susanna 
that  the  fairies  come  nights  to  the  upper  orchard  ; 
we  have  seen  the  rings  on  the  grass  there — the 
marks  their  little  feet  make  as  they  trip  it  in  a 
circle.  Bend  thine  ear  down  close,  for  they  can't 
abear  a  tell-tale  :  we  found  a  mushroom  table,  and, 
as  true  as  true,  there  was  a  tiny,  tiny  crumb  a- 
top — it  might  have  been  from  a  rainbow-tart ! — 
and  on  the  ground  there  was  an  acorn — and  there's 
never  an  oak-tree  in  the  whole  o'  the  orchard,  so 
how  came  it  there?  'Tis  the  fairies'  drinking-cup, 
thou  knowest.  And  Gillian  tells  us  tales  o'  Robin 
Goodfellow  and  the  mad  pranks  he's  played  in 
Shottery.  She  always  sets  some  white  bread 
and  a  bowl  o'  milk  for  him  i'  the  buttery,  so  that 
when  he  cometh  at  midnight  to  sweep  the  house 
and  grind  the  mustard  he  will  find  something  for 
his  pains.  If  she  should  forget  to  set  them  forth, 
now,  or  idle  about  her  work  he'd  pinch  her  black 
and  blue.  And  Grandam  Hathaway  hath  many 
stories  about  the  fairies  and  how  they  live,  and 
sometimes  how  they  help  people,  and  then  again 
how  they  harm  the  travellers,  showing  false  lights 
at  night  and  laughing  ho-ho-ho !  when  they  go 
astray  in  the  bogs.  I  love — love — Shottery  for  a 
thousand  reasons  besides,  and  I  love  Stratford 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         75 

too.  I  love  the  river  and  the  bridge  and  the 
streets  o'  the  town,  yea  the  very  streets,  and  the 
Guild  chapel — I  wish  they  held  the  school  there 
now,  I  liked  to  look  at  the  wondrous  pictures  on 
the  ceiling  when  I  went  up  to  say  my  lessons. 
And  I  love  Trinity,  too,  and  the  pleached  alley, 
and  the  dear  rooks  that  are  so  good  o'  Sundays. 
Then  I  love  the  people  here — Sir  John  Colton, 
h'm  !  not  overmuch ;  his  ferula  hurteth  and  his 
great  brows  are  so  shaggy  ;  but  I  like  him  when 
I  know  my  lessons." 

"  And  that  is  often,  I  hope,  lad,  else  wilt  thy 
father  be  sore  vexed." 

"'Tis  pretty  often,  Gran.  I  do  study  gen- 
erally, but  in  summer  when  the  meadows  are  so 
sweet  'tis  pleasanter  to  lie  wi'  Silver  and  watch 
the  clouds  sail  by  in  the  sky  and  dream  and 
dream,  or  to  play  at  lastibat  or  prisoners'  base 
in  the  school-field,  or  '  Hide  Fox  and  all  after '  in 
the  Weir  Brake." 

"  Marry,  sweetheart,  I  know  'tis  pleasanter,  but 
an  thou  wilt  be  a  scholar  thou'dst  best  be  getting 
thy  lessons  memoriter.  Romping  and  dreaming 
never  helped  any  lad  through  the  Fables !  Thou 
must  e'en  study  first." 

"  All  these  I  love  and  more  besides,"  the  boy 
went  on,  not  heeding  her  counsel,  save  with  a 
merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes  to  show  that  he  had 
heard  her:  "the  Sadlers,  and  the  Harts — dear 


76         Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

Aunt  Joan  and  my  Uncle  William — and  then  my 
grandfather  and  my  uncles,  too,  though  Ned  need 
put  on  no  such  airs  even  if  he  is  going  to  London 
soon,  he's  not  so  much  my  elder ! — and — and — 
someone  else  " — he  reached  up  and  touched  her 
cheek  softly — "  and  this  dear  house.  In  truth  I 
love  Stratford  best,  for  'twas  here  my  own  sweet 
father  was  born.  Tell  me  about  him,  Gran,  dear." 

"  Thou'rt  very  like  him." 

"  Mother  saith  so,  and  my  Grandam  Hathaway 
thinks  I  favour  him  mightily.  How  glad  I  am ! 
I'd  rather  be  like  him  than  anyone  else  in  the 
varsal  world." 

"  He  hath  ever  been  a  good  son  and  the  light 
o'  my  eyes  when  the  way  was  dark  and  bitter. 
'Fore  God,  I'm  proud  o'  his  wit  and  fancy,  but 
I'm  proudest  o'  the  true  heart  that  hath  helped 
us  in  all  our  troubles  and  the  kindly  words  he 
hath  ever  given.  Only  grow  up  like  him,  Ham- 
net,  wise  an  it  be  God's  will,  but  sunny  and  gentle 
and  honest." 

"My  father  saith  he  learned  all  that  from 
thee." 

"  Hush  thee,  now !  thy  father  hath  grown  a  sad 
flatterer  sith  he  hath  met  those  London  gallants, 
though  he  had  ever  a  winning  tongue." 

"Tell  me  about  him — begin,  'tis  thy  turn  now 
to  do  the  talking.  Come,  'twas  on  Saint  George's 
day " 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         77 

"  Thou'rt  like  the  prompter  at  the  stage-play, 
sweeting;  thou  canst  tell  the  tale  thyself,  from 
start  to  finish.  But  there  !  I'll  humour  thee.  Art 
comfortable  ?  " 

Hamnet  stretched  himself  at  full  length  at  his 
grandmother's  feet,  resting  on  one  elbow  and  fac- 
ing her,  while  Silver  came  close  and  curled 
against  his  master's  breast. 


T 


CHAPTER  VI 

For  since  the  birth  of  Cain,  the  first  male  child, 
To  him  that  did  but  yesterday  suspire, 
There  was  not  such  a  gracious  creature  born. 

KING  JOHN. 

I  have  liv'd 

To  see  inherited  my  very  wishes 
And  the  building  of  my  fancy. 

CORIOLANUS. 

"  '  •-  •  ^WAS  on  Saint  George's  day,  then,  two 
and  thirty  years  agone,  that  thy  dear 
father  first  saw  the  light,"  the  gentle 
voice  began,  "  and  three  days  later,  as  is  the  cus- 
tom here,  he  was  christened  at  Trinity.  'Twas 
as  pretty  a  morn  as  thou  could'st  wish  to  see, 
and  summer-like  too,  for  the  spring  had  come 
early  that  year.  The  fields  on  both  sides  o'  the 
river  were  soft  and  green,  and  there  were  blos- 
soms peeping  up  everywhere.  The  trees  had 
most  o'  them  put  forth  their  bravery,  and  the 
birds  sang  right  cheerily  amid  the  young  leaves. 
I  was  singing  too  in  my  heart  for  joy  o'  all  the 
beauty  in  the  world  as  I  glanced  ever  and  anon 
from  my  open  casement.  I  was  above-stairs  with 

78 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         79 

the  little  one  donning  his  finery,  and  my  sister, 
thy  grand-aunt,  Joyce,  was  e'en  helping  o'  me. 
She  had  made  a  mantle  for  him,  fair  with  fringe 
and  broidery — a  bearing-cloth  fit  for  a  squire's 
child — and  when  the  time  came  for  them  to  go,  she 
wrapped  it  about  his  head  and  tiny  shoulders  and 
it  became  him  wondrously.  Then  she  took  him 
in  her  arms  and  bore  him  gently,  but  first  she 
needs  must  go  up  the  stairs  a  little  way,  as  is 
always  meet  with  a  new-born  child.  And  what 
think'st  thou  she  did  ?  '  Why/  quoth  she,  looking 
back  at  me  with  mischief  in  her  eyes,  '  an  a  few 
steps  up  will  bring  him  luck,  I'll  not  mind  the 
trouble  o'  going  the  whole  flight  for  his  dear  sake, 
for  from  my  heart  I  wish  him  all  honour  and  ad- 
vancement.' So  with  a  laugh  she  went  up  the 
stairs  to  the  very  top,  and  then,  turning,  she  came 
down  again,  smiling  softly  to  herself.  And  she 
brought  him  to  my  bedside  for  a  farewell  kiss, 
and,  saith  she,  when  that  she  showed  me  his  little, 
peaceful  face:  '  No  matter  how  high  he  climbeth, 
sweet  sister  mine,  his  love  will  always  bring  him 
back  to  thee.'  Those  were  her  very  words  !  Per- 
adventure  there  be  some  that  would  say  'twas 
only  a  merry  maid's  fancy  that  caused  their  utter- 
ance, but  I  know  better.  I  tell  thee,  lad,  those 
words  so  lightly  spoken  fell  deep  into  my  heart, 
and  many's  the  time  I've  thought  on  them  in 
these  later  years,  and  I  know,  i'  faith,  'twas  no 


8o          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

whimsey  on  her  part,  but  'twas  an  angel  bade 
her  speak  them. 

"  Then  she  left  me  and  went  down  to  where  thy 
grandfather  was  waiting,  here  in  this  very  room, 
with  our  friends  and  kinsfolk,  and  they,  with  one 
accord,  gathered  about  her  to  see  the  babe,  some 
cautious-like  and  others  pushing  and  crowding  ; 
but,  marry,  the  manikin  knew  not  fear.  He  just 
looked  at  them  all  with  something  like  a  smile 
in  's  eyes,  as  though  he  wist  well  what  their  brave 
sallies  meant.  And  after  they  had  gazed  their 
fill  they  formed  into  a  little  band  and  went 
through  the  door,  and  I,  watching  from  my  win- 
dow above,  saw  them  troop  out  into  the  sunshine 
and  wend  their  way  down  the  lane.  Soon  they 
passed  from  my  sight,  but  I  could  still  follow 
them  with  my  mind's  eye,  faring  along  by  the 
Market  Cross,  on  and  on  to  Old  Town  ;  friends 
and  relatives  led  the  way,  and  then  came  my 
sister  Alys  carrying  the  chrisom,  made  o'  fine- 
wrought  linen,  white  as  driven  snow.  Oh  !  'twas 
a  goodly  company,  but  fairest  o'  them  all  was  the 
child  in  Joyce's  arms,  and  full  well  she  knew  that 
too,  for  she  stepped  as  proud  as  proud,  walking  be- 
tween his  father  and  good  Master  William  Clopton, 
who  would  e'en  stand  sponsor  to  my  little  son." 

"  And  he  it  was  that  gave  him  six  Apostle 
spoons  and  the  gilt  bowl  yonder ;  thou  must  not 
leave  them  out,  Gran." 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         81 

"  Nay,  not  I,  though  I  heeded  them  not  at  the 
time,  I  trow  ;  I'd  only  eyes  and  thoughts  for  the 
babe.  Well,  they  all  went  along  gay  and  merry 
— I  could  almost  hear  their  laughter — until  they 
reached  the  pleached  alley  that  leadeth  to  the 
church  door;  then  their  light  talk  ceased.  The 
trees  above  their  heads  were  fair  with  buds  amid 
the  bursting  leaves,  and  here  and  there  a  white 
petal  floated  down,  but  they  passed  beneath  them 
silently.  Twice  before  had  they  been  along  that 
same  path  with  a  little  child  o'  mine,  and  thej 
needs  must  think  o'  those  times.  And  to  mt 
waiting  in  my  chamber,  there  came  a  thought 
that  shadowed  the  brightness  o'  that  bright  day 
— a  thought  o'  those  other  little  ones  whose  loss 
had  left  my  home  so  desolate,  and  my  heart  was 
heavy  with  the  remembrance,  for  a  mother  always 
remembers! 

"  But  they  tarried  not ;  they  went  on  to  the 
church,  uttering  no  word,  though  mayhap  many 
a  prayer  was  whispered  by  them  for  the  boy  on 
my  sister's  breast,  as  they  halted  in  the  porch  to 
let  him  enter  first.  In  that  way  the  christening 
party  passed  up  the  nave  to  where  Sir  John 
Breechgirdle  stood  waiting  at  the  font.  Thou 
would'st  not  think  but  the  little  one  was  not 
affrighted  in  the  least  by  the  strange  face  and  the 
deep,  gruff  voice  ;  nay,  he  let  fall  no  whimper. 
And  at  that  Joyce  felt  her  heart  misgive  her,  as 


82          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

I  did  mine  when  that  she  told  me,  for  thou  know- 
est  they  say  'tis  always  a  good  sign  an  a  child 
crieth  lustily  at  such  times.  But  when  she  would 
have  been  dismayed  a  bar  o'  golden  light  came 
in  through  the  window  and  touched  his  face,  and 
the  glory  o'  it  stilled  her  fears.  When  'twas  all 
over,  Sir  John  shook  thy  grandfather  by  the  hand, 
and  said  the  babe  was  a  likely  one  and  he  hoped 
'twould  thrive,  whereat  thy  grandfather  thanked 
him  for  's  kind  office  and  bade  him  to  the  gos- 
sips' feast,  and  then  they  all  came  back  to  the 
house  and  had  a  cup  o'  merry-go-down  and  some 
o'  the  christening  cake  and  a  store  o'  all  things 
fine." 

She  broke  off  in  her  recital  and  looked  down  at 
the  eager,  upturned  face. 

"  All  this  thou  know'st,  little  lad." 

"  Ay,  marry,  that  do  I ;  but  go  on,  come  to  the 
Plague." 

"  Hark  to  him  now !  The  Plague,  say'st  thou  ? 
Ah,  those  were  bitter  days  that  followed  ;  pray 
God  they  come  not  again  !  The  land  was  pleasant 
to  see,  but  a  grievous  ill  lay  over  Stratford  town, 
and  the  green  and  gold  fairness  was  but  a  mock- 
ery to  the  anxious  hearts.  'Twas  a  summer  o' 
smoke,  as  we  knew  it  would  be  when  the  ash 
budded  before  the  oak,  and  a  great  pestilence  was 
all  around.  Scarce  a  house  was  there  that  was 
not  held  in  its  deadly  grasp  and  bore  not  the  red 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         83 

cross  upon  its  door  above  the  words  :  '  Lord  have 
mercy  upon  us ! '  writ  in  a  trembling  hand.  '  Lord 
have  mercy  upon  us!'  How  many  times  I  said 
that  over  as  I  hugged  my  little  babe  close  to  my 
breast !  and  my  heart  grew  faint  at  the  thought 
that  no  matter  howsoever  tight  I  held  him  I 
could  not  keep  him  an  'twas  not  the  Lord's  will. 
All  day  long  I  stayed  within  doors — I  dared  not 
stir  abroad — with  the  little  fellow  in  my  arms.  I 
couldn't  bear  to  have  him  from  me  a  minute,  and 
every  hour  he  grew  dearer  and  dearer,  and  every 
hour  the  fear  o'  losing  him  pressed  closer.  The 
air  was  heavy  with  sobs,  and  the  passing  bell  rang 
slow  and  solemn,  each  peal  quivering  on  my  heart- 
strings. Sometimes  the  little  babe  would  stop 
his  crowing  and  seem  to  listen  to  the  fearsome 
sound.  Then  would  I  fall  to  kissing  him  and 
crying :  '  Thou'lt  not  go,  sweet — thou'lt  stay  with 
mother?'  And  he  would  look  at  me  e'en  a'most 
as  though  he  understood,  and  once  he  threw 
his  tiny  arm  up  on  my  neck  as  if  he  would  not 
leave  me. 

"  Nay,  nay,  lad,  that  lack  o'  trust  was  grievous 
wrong,  I  ween,  and  yet  I  could  not  help  it.  Twice 
had  my  arms  been  lightened  o'  their  load  and  my 
heart  sore  burdened,  and  I  could  not  let  this  man- 
child  go.  But  God  was  good.  He  did  not  chast- 
en me.  Sure,  there  was  some  charm  laid  upon 
our  threshold,  for  the  Plague  came  not  nigh  us. 


84          Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

The  summer  waned  and  still  all  Stratford  suf- 
fered, and  '  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us !'  was  ever- 
more the  cry.  The  bell  tolled  by  night  and  day, 
until  its  very  voice  grew  hoarse  with  grief,  but 
there  came  no  harm  to  the  little  one  that  lay 
upon  my  heart.  He  grew  apace,  the  finest,  lust- 
iest child  I  ever  saw,  with  eyes  like  stars  that 
even  then  took  note  o'  all  around.  The  woods 
about  here  turned  to  red  and  gold  and  still  the 
Plague  lingered  and  the  people  were  wasted  with 
despair.  'Twas  winter  before  it  really  left  us,  and 
in  that  time — in  that  time,  boy,  a  sixth  o'  the 
Stratford  folk  were  taken  and  the  shadow  o'  sor- 
row lay  on  many  hearthstones."  She  raised  her 
apron  to  her  eyes  and  wiped  away  the  tears  that 
had  gathered  there,  then  she  went  on  speaking 
very  tenderly. 

"  There  was  no  shadow  on  mine,  thank  God ! 
Only  a  great  joy  that  had  trembled  so  near  the 
brink  o'  danger  it  had  taught  me  how  to  feel  for 
my  neighbours  in  their  woe.  I  wot  not  if  'twas 
because  o'  those  dark  times  that  my  little  Will- 
iam was  dearer  to  me  than  any  o'  my  other  chil- 
dren were,  though  I  loved  them  and  love  them 
still  with  a  true  heart's  love.  But  he  must  ever 
be  first  in  my  affection,  for  my  heart-strings  were 
bound  so  tightly  around  him. 

"  Well,  lad,  he  was  the  sunshine  o'  the  house, 
and  he  was  happiest  at  my  side,  though  he  ever 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         85 

loved  to  ride  on  his  father's  shoulder,  but  even 
from  there  he  would  stretch  out  his  arms  to  me 
to  be  taken  and  kissed  and  laughed  over.  He 
was  the  best  and  sweetest-tempered  babe  that 
ever  lived,  I  warrant  me.  He  cried  but  rarely, 
and  when  he  did,  marry,  'twas  not  to  bellow  like 
most  children ;  his  little  lip  would  quiver  and  the 
big  tears  would  grow  in  's  eyes ;  sometimes  they 
would  fall,  but  oftenest  they'd  disappear  and  he'd 
be  smiling  again.  He  was  ever  smiling,  perad- 
venture  the  fairies  were  whispering  to  him." 

"  Tell  about  the  time  he  was  lost." 

"Ay,  marry,  sweeting,  thou'lt  have  the  whole 
loaf;  thou'lt  not  be  content  with  less.  But  to  the 
tale.  That  was  when  he  had  just  turned  two  in 
the  June  o'  that  year ;  'twas  on  a  Saturday  and 
he  and  I  were  in  this  very  room,  he  on  the  floor 
at  my  feet,  e'en  as  thou  art,  when  who  should 
come  to  the  door  but  my  good  gossip  Mistress 
Quiney,  and  she  and  I  fell  deep  in  talk  and  paid 
no  heed  to  the  child.  When  she  had  gone  I 
turned  me  to  speak  to  the  little  one,  and  lo  !  he 
was  not  anywhere  to  be  seen.  On  a  sudden  my 
heart  was  like  a  stone  in  my  breast  and  my  blood 
stood  key-cold  in  my  veins.  And  '  Willy,  Willy, 
sweet,'  I  called,  hoping  to  hear  his  merry  laugh. 
But  'twas  passing  still ;  there  was  no  sound  abroad 
save  the  song  o'  the  birds  without  in  the  garden, 
for  the  house-door  stood  open  wide.  Then  I  was 


86          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

dumb  with  fear.  Methought  the  fairies  had 
stolen  him  away,  that  'twas  they  who  had  sent 
Mistress  Quiney  to  lure  me  from  my  watch,  and 
then  they  had  spirited  him  to  Fairyland.  I  ran 
out  into  the  garden  half-mazed  with  grief,  and  the 
sunlight  blinded  me  so  that  I  stumbled  along  the 
path,  not  knowing  what  I  did  nor  whither  I  went, 
and  then  suddenly  I  saw  a  sight  I  shall  never 
forget.  There  was  Willy  standing  on  the  grass 
by  the  elder  bush,  gazing  up  at  a  bird  that  was 
singing  on  a  spray,  as  if  he  knew  its  song.  I  ran 
close  and  the  bird  spread  its  wings  and  flew 
away  ;  then  Willy  turned  and  toddled  toward  me 
and  seized  my  gown,  and  laughed  and  laughed 
again.  I  did  not  rate  him ;  instead  I  caught  him 
in  my  arms  and  kissed  the  dimples  in  's  cheeks 
and  the  creases  in  's  fat  little  neck,  whereat  he 
thrust  the  rose  he  had  in  's  hand  into  my  face, 
and  naught  would  content  him  but  that  I  should 
take  it  myself  and  kiss  it  too." 

"  That  was  because  he  loved  the  flower,  Gran, 
and  wanted  thee  to  love  it." 

"  In  good  sooth,  yea.  He  loved  the  flowers, 
and  often  would  I  gather  them  for  him  and  he 
would  use  them  for  his  mammets,  but  tenderly, 
too,  as  if  he  would  not  bruise  them.  All  that 
summer,  pleasant  days  we'd  sit  in  the  garden,  or 
go  into  the  meadows  by  the  river,  and  he  would 
play  with  the  little  things  he  found  there,  or  he'd 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         87 

listen  with  all  his  heart  in  's  face  to  the  birds' 
songs.  He  loved  them  even  then.  And  when  he 
was  forwearied  with  roving  he'd  nestle  close 
beside  me  and  I'd  talk  to  him  low  and  tell  him 
little  tales,  or  I'd  sing  the  old  carols  and  ballads 
to  him,  and  though  he  was  but  a  babe,  he  seemed 
to  understand.  Then  I  said  to  my  heart :  '  Per- 
adventure  my  little  child  may  grow  to  be  a  man 
whose  dole  it  is  to  hearten  the  whole  world.' 
Nay,  then,  we  women  often  dream  fond  dreams 
o'  our  little  babes,  and  how  each  one  holdeth,  be- 
like, some  great  gift  that,  an  we  but  knew  it  and 
could  foster  it  with  properest  care,  would  flower 
into  beauty.  Only  oftenest  we  do  naught !  And 
so,  when  I  felt  this  feeling  growing  and  ever 
growing  within  me  as  I  looked  into  my  Willy's 
eyes,  I  did  bethink  me  'twas  a  sign  sent  from 
on  high,  and  I  resolved  to  learn  from  the  books 
that  I  might  teach  my  little  son  when  he  grew 
old  enough  to  commence  scholar.  Thou  know'st 
I'd  never  been  to  school — there  were  no  dame 
schools  at  Wilmcote  when  that  I  was  a  child — but 
I  made  shift  to  learn  myself,  and  when  Willy  was 
three,  though  Baby  Gilbert  was  in  my  arms,  I 
used  to  give  the  little  fellow  lessons  from  the 
horn-book." 

"The  one  I  studied?" 

"  E'en  so,  the  very  same.  First  he  conned  the 
criss-cross  row  and  very  soon  he  could  make  the 


88          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

letters,  both  small  and  big,  and  then  'twas  no 
long  time  before  he'd  mastered  the  little  words 
and  got  the  '  Our  Father  '  by  heart.  All  that  was 
done  ere  he  was  four  years  old,  and  he  would 
have  to  reach  the  age  o'  seven  before  he  could 
enter  the  grammar-school ;  so  thy  grandfather 
brought  me  home  an  Absey  book  and  Willy 
learned  the  catechism  and  commandments  there- 
from, and  soon  he'd  all  the  reading-matter  safely 
stowed  in 's  little  brain.  Learning  came  easier  to 
him  than  to  me.  Many's  the  night  I've  sat  up 
late  studying  by  candle-light — and  studying  hard 
— what  it  didn't  take  him  long  to  master.  And 
besides  the  Absey  book  there  was  the  '  Book  o' 
Riddles  '  I  had  as  a  fairing,  and  there  were  some 
ballads  printed  by  good  Widow  Toy  and  the 
Carols.  I  borrowed  me  some  books,  too,  from 
Billesley  Hall,  and  the  lad  and  me  did  read  them 
together.  '  The  Passtyme  o'  Pleasure,'  '  A  Lytell 
Geste  o'  Robin  Hood,'  and  the  story  o'  the  small 
boy  and  the  Frere — I've  told  it  to  thee  oft,  how 
that  the  little  child  with  his  magic  pipe  could  set 
the  whole  village  dancing  to  his  music,  and  could 
e'en  make  his  harsh  stepmother  and  the  Frere 
obedient  to  his  innocent  will.  There  were  other 
books  besides,  and  then  there  was  the  black-let- 
tered Bible  yonder  which  he  would  read  and 
read.  But  he  was  not  vain  o'  what  he  could  do — 
not  he !  Thou  would'st  never  have  wist  from  his 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         89 

bearing  that  he  knew  more  than  other  children  o' 
his  age.  He  was  ever  ready  to  be  with  them  at 
their  sports.  'Twas  he  that  taught  thy  uncles 
Gilbert  and  Richard  and  thy  sweet  aunts  Joan 
and  little  Nan  their  letters,  making  a  play  out  o' 
it  that  took  all  the  sting  o'  study  away.  He'd  a 
wondrous  way  with  children  both  big  and  small. 
They  all  looked  to  him  as  leader,  but  in  their 
games  he  never  wanted  the  best  place  for  him- 
self, still  they'd  follow  him  everywhere  and  listen 
to  his  tales  by  the  hour — he  had  many,  merry  and 
sad,  at 's  tongue's  end." 

"  And  the  dumb  beasts  and  the  birds  were  his 
friends  too  ?  " 

"  Yea,  that  they  were.  I've  seen  the  birds 
light  on  his  shoulder,  and  they  never  stopped 
their  singing  when  he  went  by.  But  anything 
that  was  hurt,  or  weak,  was  dearest  to  him.  His 
heart  was  so  large.  Yet  most  o'  all,  methinks,  he 
loved  the  dogs.  He'd  a  little  beastie  o'  his  own 
that  followed  him  as  Silver  followeth  thee." 

Hamnet  bent  over  his  dog  and  pulled  his  ears 
gently. 

"  He  couldn't  have  loved  Little  Sweetheart  as 
I  love  thee,  Silver,  not  quite  as  much.  There 
wasn't  so  much  to  love." 

"  Marry  and  amen,  that's  chop-logic.  As  well 
say  thy  father  careth  not  so  much  for  thee  be- 
cause forsooth  thou'rt  little,  and  wert  thou  twice 


90          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

as  big  he'd  love  thee  twice  as  much.  That  could 
never  be  when  his  whole  heart  is  thine  already ; 
and  yet,  dear  wag,  he  hath  room,  and  large  room, 
for  the  others  o'  us  too.  Thou  canst  not  make  a 
measure  for  love ;  it  knoweth  no  bounds." 

"  But  Little  Sweetheart  was  not  so  fine-looking 
as  Silver,  thou'st  said  so  oft." 

"  Nay,  not  so  fine,  I  wis,  and  not  so  proud 
neither,  for  Master  Silver  there  is  vain  o'  his 
glossy,  grey  coat ;  but  think'st  thou  thy  father 
only  judged  from  the  outside  ?  When  he  was  no 
older  than  thou  art  he  found  the  little  beast  at 
Snitterfield,  harried  by  some  boys  who  threw 
sticks  and  stones  at  the  small  creature  and  lamed 
him  so  that  he  could  run  no  more,  but  was  e'en 
at  the  mercy  o'  his  persecutors.  'Twas  then  thy 
father  came  upon  them  at  their  evil  work,  and 
though  he  was  but  one  against  the  two  o'  them,  he 
treated  them  to  a  good  threshing  both  with  his 
fists  and  his  tongue  till  they  were  forced  to  run 
away,  for  they  were  cowards  at  heart,  as  all  are 
who  attack  poor  dumb  things,  or  fight  the  help- 
less. When  they  were  gone  thy  father  searched 
for  the  little  dog  and  found  him  at  last  under 
some  bushes,  whither  he  had  crawled  to  be  out  o' 
harm's  way.  He  lifted  him  gently  in  's  arms,  for 
the  thin,  yellow  body  was  covered  with  cuts  and 
bruises  and  one  small  paw  dangled  helpless-like. 
The  little  creature  just  looked  for  a  moment  out 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         91 

o*  his  sad,  hunted  eyes,  then  seeing  only  kind- 
ness in  my  Willy's  face,  he  put  forth  his  tongue 
and  kissed  the  hand  that  held  him. 

"  So  they  came  home  together,  and  well  I  re- 
member the  tears  my  Willy  shed,  him  that  never 
cried  for  his  own  hurts,  as  he  tended  to  his 
little  charge  and  set  his  leg  with  deft  fingers. 
Truly  he  looked  deeper  than  the  outside;  he 
looked  into  the  heart  o'  the  dumb  thing  and  saw 
the  love  and  gratefulness  there,  and  love  grew 
apace  in  's  own  breast.  And  from  that  time  they 
were  always  together.  We  all  loved  Little 
Sweetheart  heartily,  ay  faith,  heartily ;  how 
could  we  else  when  he  was  so  thankful  for  the 
least  kind  word,  and  his  body  would  wriggle  all 
over  did  one  but  take  notice  o'  him  by  a  glance  ? 
But  though  he  cared  for  us  all  'twas  thy  father 
that  was  first  in  's  thoughts,  as  'tis  to-day  with 
Silver  and  thee  ;  he  would  never  see  him  coming 
but  he  would  catch  up  something  in  's  mouth  an 
'twere  only  a  dead  leaf,  and  carry  it  to  him 
proudly  as  though  'twere  a  gift  fit  for  a  king. 
And  thy  father  now  —  God  bless  him!  —  would 
take  it  with  a  laugh  and  a  fond  touch  that  would 
make  the  little  creature  leap  and  leap  again  for 
very  joy.  There  be  some  who  prize  not  a  dog's 
affection,  but  'tis  not  so  with  me.  'Tis  a  thing  to 
treasure  and  be  thankful  for,  methinks,  for  some- 


92         Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

times  when  all  the  ways  are  dark,  thou  canst  get 
a  deal  o'  comfort  out  o'  a  dog's  true  love." 

Mistress  Shakespeare  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 
her  fine,  grey  eyes  turned  toward  the  window,  but 
little  did  they  see  of  the  summer  beauty.  There 
was  a  mist  before  them  like  a  soft  curtain  that 
shut  out  the  simple  room  and  the  boy's  upraised 
face  and  made  other  things  clear  to  her  mental 
vision.  They  were  far  less  bright  than  the  scene 
before  her,  but  she  looked  at  them  dauntlessly,  as 
she  had  looked  at  them  at  the  time  of  their  hap- 
pening. 

"  I'll  never  say  that  again  about  my  father's 
love  for  Little  Sweetheart,"  Hamnet  broke  in, 
after  a  moment  of  silence  ;  "  I'll  think  'twas  as 
great  as  mine  is  for  Silver  and  then  I'll  know  it 
couldn't  be  greater.  But  all  the  same,  Grandam, 
Sweetheart  wasn't  nearly  so  fine-looking  as  Sil- 
ver here." 

"  That  he  wasn't,  but  I  do  protest,  la,  thou 
makest  a  very  peacock  o'  thy  dog  —  see  how 
proud  he  looketh !  Nay  then,  Sweetheart  was  not 
so  goodly  to  see,  but  suppose  yon  mass  o'  vanity 
was  bandy-legged  and  always  went  a  little  lame 
and  had  great  scars  on  's  body  and  a  queer  stump 
o'  a  tail— what  then  ?  " 

Hamnet  hugged  the  dog  close. 

"  I  should  love  him  with  all  my  heart,  because 
he'd  still  be  Silver." 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         93 

"  I  trow  so.  Verily,  'tis  not  his  beauty  that 
maketh  him  dear,  'tis  something  deeper.  They 
are  sorry  eyes  that  cannot  see  below  the  surface, 
but  there  be  many  that  are  thus  sand-blind  and 
judge  only  from  the  fine  feathers  without.  We 
won't  do  that,  dear  boy,  we'll  look  closer  and 
think  o'  the  beauty  within." 


CHAPTER    Vll 

Pray  you,  sit  by  us, 
And  tell 's  a  tale. 

A  WINTER'S  TALE. 

He  hath  never  fed  of  the  dainties  that  are  bred  in  a  book ;  he  hath 
not  eat  paper,  as  it  were ;  he  hath  not  drunk  ink ;  his  intellect  is  not 
replenished. 

LOVE'S  LABOUR'S  LOST. 

THOMAS  WHITTINGTON,  whose  duty 
it  was  to  tend  Mistress  Hathaway 's  sheep, 
was  stretched  full  length  upon  the  ground, 
in  the  shade  of  a  spreading  elm,  fast  asleep.  He 
did  not  present  a  very  gallant  appearance  as 
he  lay  there  in  his  shepherd's  attire  of  grey  rus- 
set with  his  bag  and  bottle  at  his  side.  His  long, 
thin  legs  were  sprawled  far  apart  and  his  blue 
bonnet  had  fallen  from  his  head,  disclosing  his 
straggling,  unkempt  locks.  A  shaft  of  sunshine 
pierced  through  the  leaves  above  and  descended 
upon  the  lined  and  weather-beaten  face  which, 
from  exposure  to  sun  and  wind,  had  grown  the 
colour  of  the  pampered  prodigal's  cloak  in  the 
painted  cloth.  It  danced  persistently  over  the 
great  nose  and  into  the  cavernous  mouth,  whence 

94 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         95 

issued  such  rumblings  and  whistlings  and  sigh- 
ings  as  must  have  frightened  the  sheep  had  they 
not  become  indifferent  and  heedless  by  this  time. 
For  Thomas  was  a  noisy  fellow,  and  never  as 
much  so  as  when  he  was  wrapped  deep  in  slumber. 
Did  he  clatter  about  the  barn  or  in  the  buttery, 
his  great  shoes  —  set  with  nails  —  beating  out  a 
barbaric  sort  of  music,  did  he  speak  in  his  gruff 
voice  or  roar  you  out  his  hearty  laugh,  or  did  he 
break  into  song,  though  he  could  get  no  further  in 
it  than  the  one  line  (but  'twas  no  matter  surely, 
since  he  had  no  notion  of  tune) — why,  all  those 
sounds  compounded  together  could  not  make  up 
a  tithe  of  the  din  which  was  ever  the  accompani- 
ment of  his  repose. 

But  though  Whittington  slept  at  his  task, 
his  conscience  was  easy ;  the  rough-haired  little 
tyke  at  his  side  made  an  excellent  deputy,  and 
mounted  guard  over  the  shepherd's  crook,  keep- 
ing a  wary  watch  of  the  woolly  masses  lying 
about  asleep,  or  greedily  cropping  the  herbage. 
The  dog,  like  his  master,  was  old,  and  often 
drowsed  in  the  long,  sunny  hours  ;  but  it  was  al- 
ways with  one  eye  open,  and  woe  betide  the  silly 
sheep  who  sought  to  exchange  his  pasture-land 
for  another !  He  was  shown  the  error  of  his  way 
on  the  moment  and  made  a  shamefaced  example 
of  for  the  instruction  of  his  kind.  Nor  could  any 
stranger  venture  into  the  field  without  giving  the 


96         Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

nay-word  which  should  account  satisfactorily  for 
his  presence  there. 

The  boy  singing  '  Constant  Susanna '  as  he 
came  across  the  meadows,  however,  was  no 
stranger,  and  neither  was  his  companion,  the  dig- 
nified hound.  The  small  guardian  of  the  peace 
pricked  up  his  ears  at  the  sound  of  the  pleas- 
ant music  with  its  burden  of  '  lady,  lady/  and 
sprang  forward  a  few  feet  to  greet  the  new-com- 
ers, wagging  his  tail  in  welcome  and  giving  vent 
to  his  joy  in  great,  noisy  barks  which  failed  to 
arouse  his  master.  Hamnet  pulled  the  sharp 
pointed  ears  and  patted  the  little  cur  who  leapt 
up  to  be  caressed,  but  Silver  passed  on  with  an 
almost  disdainful  step,  waiting  for  the  boy  to  seat 
himself  before  he  took  up  his  own  position  near 
by,  sitting  up  on  his  haunches  and  overlooking 
the  field  where  the  grazing  sheep  lay — soft,  white 
patches  amid  the  green,  almost  as  if  the  snows 
of  winter  still  lingered  there.  The  other  dog  sat 
gravely  erect,  all  idea  of  drowsiness  dispelled,  his 
eyes  now  turned  upon  his  flock,  and  anon  cast 
furtively  at  one  of  his  visitors  as  if  trying  to  read 
his  thoughts  and  discover  whether  any  envy  for 
his  own  authority  troubled  the  placid  breast.  He 
almost  wished  that  some  disturbance  would  occur 
amongst  the  lambs  and  sheep,  that  he  might  be 
called  upon  to  show  his  power  and  thus  awaken 
some  spark  of  respect  in  the  indifferent,  town-bred 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad         97 

eyes.  He  breathed  shortly,  and  snapped  at  a  fly 
with  unnecessary  vehemence. 

Hamnet  watched  his  sleeping  host  for  a  few 
moments  in  silence,  then  with  a  roguish  look  on 
his  face  he  broke  a  long  twig  from  a  bush  near- 
by and  stripped  it  quickly  of  all  its  leaves  save 
two  at  the  slender  top.  He  leaned  forward  cau- 
tiously on  one  elbow  and  dangled  the  branch  just 
above  Whittington's  nose,  letting  it  rise  and  fall 
in  quick  succession  and  making  a  buzzing  noise 
the  while  with  his  lips.  The  heavy  snores  did  not 
diminish  for  some  minutes,  then  there  was  an  in- 
terval of  quiet,  followed  by  a  great  gasp  which 
ended  in  a  growl.  The  sleeper  threw  up  his  arm 
to  shield  his  face,  but  the  pertinacious  insect 
darted  at  his  ear  and  at  the  bit  of  brown  throat 
left  exposed  to  its  attack.  Backward  and  for- 
ward, wherever  there  was  an  unguarded  spot, 
that  cunning,  winged  thing  found  its  way,  and 
the  buzzing  increased  until  one  would  have 
thought  a  whole  hive  of  bees  had  mistaken 
Thomas  Whittington  for  some  new  species  of 
flower,  some  'love-in-idleness,'  and  were  en- 
amoured of  his  sweetness.  At  last  the  tortured 
man  struggled  up  into  a  sitting  position  and 
waved  his  arms  frantically  about  his  head,  crying 
in  his  stentorian  voice  : 

"  Aroint  ye!  aroint  ye  !  I  be  e'en  at  my  work. 
Can't  ye  leave  an  honust  man  alone  ?  I  be  e'en 
7 


98          Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

at  my  work  watchin'  o'  Mistress  Hathaway's 
sheep." 

"  He  thinks  'tis  the  fairies  pinching  him  for  his 
laziness,"  Judith  whispered,  in  delight,  bending 
toward  her  brother.  She  had  just  crept  through 
the  field,  and  watchful  Crab,  seeing  her  coming, 
had  gone  to  meet  her,  escorting  her  as  Silver  had 
escorted  Hamnet  a  short  time  before. 

The  boy  nodded  in  response  and  brought  his 
switch  down  with  stinging  force  upon  the  hairy 
fore-arm,  whereat  Whittington  gave  a  roar  of 
pain  like  a  bull  in  a  rage. 

"  Out  upon  ye,  ye  pestiferous  gad,"  he  shouted. 
"  I  did  but  close  my  eye  to  wink.  I  be  an  honust 
labourer,  I  be,  an'  one  that  mindeth  a's  duty, 
come  wet  or  dry.  There's  meat  for  ye  in  other 
places  than  in  Mistress  Hathaway's  meadow. 
Away,  I  say — nay,  then,  Crab,  to't,  to't." 

Thus  set  on,  Crab  rushed  wildly  among  the 
grazing  sheep,  scattering  them  to  right  and  left 
as  the  wind  whirls  the  snow  from  trees  and  roof- 
tops. Silver,  quivering  all  over,  uttered  a  deep 
note  of  approval,  as  the  scared  woolly  things,  with 
much  bleating,  huddled  together  in  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  field.  The  uproar  was  so  unlooked- 
for  and  so  tremendous  that  Whittington  threw 
himself  over  on  his  face  and  fell  to  kicking  the  air 
with  his  great  feet.  Then  again  did  that  saucy 
insect,  augmented  by  another  guided  by  Judith's 


He  thinks  'tis  the  fairies  pinching  him  for  his  laziness,"  Judith 
whispered. 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad         99 

hand,  dart  hither  and  thither,  buzzing  and  sting- 
ing about  the  prostrate  man's  ears,  while  near  him 
two  voices  sang  with  appropriate  emphasis : 

"  '  Pinch  him  black  and  pinch  him  blue, 
O,  thus  our  nails  shall  handle  you  ! ' ' 

The  man  tossed  from  side  to  side  and  cried  for 
mercy. 

"  Let  be,"  he  groaned,  "  I'll  e'en  'fess.  Marry, 
I  was  at  '  The  Bunch  o'  Grapes '  yestreen,  an' 
there  was  ale  i'  plenty,  an'  the  way  to  Shottery 
was  grievous  long,  an'  I  corned  na  home  at  cur- 
few ;  but  I  seed  ye  na — nay,  that's  as  true  as  Crab 
hath  loongs — I  seed  ye  na  at  your  dances.  I 
corned  straight  home,  though  the  road  were  long 
an'  waverin'.  My  sleep's  been  broke — nay,  then, 
I  wull  sip  no  more !  'Tis  a  parlous  thing  for  an 
old  man  to  play  the  lad,  but  'twas  an  occasion — 
an  occasion — Steve  Sly  put  up  the  ale " 

His  words  were  cut  short  by  a  peal  of  laughter 
from  the  children,  which  was  like  a  dash  of  cold 
water  over  the  frightened  man,  restoring  him  to 
his  senses  on  the  moment.  He  sat  up  and  turned 
a  half-angry,  half-ashamed  face  upon  his  perse- 
cutors. 

"  Methought  'twas  the  fairies,"  he  muttered. 
"  But  ye  wull  na  tell  Gillian ;  she  hath  a  framp- 
old  way  o'  takin'  a  man  up.  Did  she  but  know 
I'd  slept  at  my  task  I'd  hear  nowt  but  that. 


ioo        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

Wull  ye  keep  peace  ?  Good  then,  I  be  na  feared. 
I'  fecks  'twas  parlous  wrong  I  do  protest,  but 
'twould  never  ha'  happed  an  Crab  had  na  been 
minded  to  watch.  A  shepherd's  a  man,  hark  ye, 
that  should  e'en  keep  ever  awake  for  fear  o'  dan- 
gers coming  to  a's  flock." 

"  Even  so,  Thomas,  that's  what  the  book  saith." 

"  I  got  it  from  no  book,  truly — I  know  not  the 
insides  o'  a  book." 

"  We  put  it  into  English  only  the  other  fore- 
noon," Hamnet  persisted,  "  like  this  :  '  Shepherds 
are  wont  sometimes  to  talk  o'  their  old  lives 
whilst  the  cattle  chew  the  cud  under  the  shade, 
for  fear  if  they  should  fall  asleep  some  fox,  or 
wolf,  or  such  like  beast  o'  prey  should  fall  upon 
the  cattle.' " 

Judith  moved  a  trifle  nearer  the  speaker,  half 
in  admiration,  half  in  terror  of  what  might  be 
lurking  in  the  thicket  beyond  the  boundary  of 
the  field. 

"  Hath  he  not  wit,  Thomas  ?  "  she  asked,  nod- 
ding her  head  in  the  direction  of  the  boy. 
"  Marry,  thou  shouldst  hear  him  say  it  off  in 
Latin.  Thou  hast  it  memority,  sweet  Hamnet, 
I  wis — come — come — say  it." 

Hamnet  flung  out  his  arm  in  a  declaiming 
fashion  and  began  to  chant  the  words  : 

"  '  Pastores  aliquando  dum  pecas  sub  umbra  rumin» 
ant  antiquos  suos  amores  recitare  solent '  ' 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad        101 

"  Now,  what  a  thing  learning  be-eth  !  "  Thomas 
interposed;  "but  I'd  liefer  ha*  the  English — it 
soundeth  more  familiarity.  There  was  but  a 
word  o'  thy  gibberish  that  I'd  e'en  knowed  afore 
— 'twas  '  dum.'  By  my  troth,  a  man  would  soon 
be  dumb  an  he  had  to  talk  that  heathenish  stuff ! 
Now  I  praise  Heaven  I  come  o'  dull  parentage, 
an'  what  I  ha'  to  say  I  must  e'en  say  in  few 
words  an'  fair  English.  But  lad,  go  to,  thou  art 
a  marvellous  scholard." 

"  Nay,  I  differ  not  from  the  other  boys  ;  thou 
should'st  hear  our  form  go  up  to  say  the  Fables. 
Wert  ever  at  school,  Thomas?" 

"  Nay,  I  had  na  toime  ;  my  father  tended  sheep 
an'  I  must  e'en  fall  to  when  that  I  was  a  little 
lad.  But  tell  me  what  thou  dost  and  when  goest 
thou  to  thy  lessons  ?  " 

"  At  six  i'  the  morning  o'  summer  and  seven  o' 
winter,  wet  or  cold,  sunny  or  sweet,  when  one 
would  liefer  play  micher — it  matters  not,  there 
one  must  be.  I'm  in  the  third  form  now,  and 
this  is  what  I  must  e'en  do.  Every  morn  I  must 
say  two  parts,  one  out  o'  the  Accidence  and  the 
other  out  o'  the  Grammar  (I'll  show  thee  my 
grammar  some  day,  with  the  picture  o'  the  boys 
in  the  tree  gathering  apples)." 

"  Marry,  what  doth  that  teach  ?  Boys  need  na 
be  showed  how  to  climb  a  tree  and  steal  fruit 
Tis  born  in  'em,  methinks." 


IO2        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

"  Nay,  sure,  Thomas,  'tis  the  tree  o'  knowledge, 
like  the  one  that  stood  i'  the  Garden  o'  Paradise, 
and  the  boys  are  e'en  picking  the  fruit  for  their 
advancement.  But  thou  bring'st  me  out — where 
was  I  ?  Oh  !  we  say  the  accidence  and  the  gram- 
mar, and  then,  look  'ee,  each  boy  must  form  the 
first  person  o'  a  verb  active  in  any  o'  the  four  con- 
jugations. And  we  may  go  home  at  eleven  for 
our  dinner ;  but  we  must  be  back  in  our  places  at 
one,  and  so  to  continue  there  till  three,  or  the 
half-hour  past,  then  there's  a  rest  for  a  quarter  o' 
an  hour ;  that  over,  lessons  till  the  half-hour  af- 
ter five,  and  then  to  end  with  reading  a  piece  o' 
a  chapter  and  singing  two  staves  o'  a  psalm  and 
lastly  with  a  prayer.  'Tis  near  six " 

"  Ha'  done,  ha'  done  !  "  Thomas  cried ;  "  I  feel 
the  sleep  comin'  back  to  my  eyelids." 

"  But  our  lessons  in  the  afternoon,"  Hamnet 
continued,  with  a  laugh — "  nay,  then,  thou  must 
hear  it  all,  sith  thou  hast  asked.  'Tis  not  so  bad, 
I  warrant,  for  thee  to  hear  as  'tis  for  us  to  do,  es- 
pecially as  Sir  John  hath  a  ferula  this  long,  and  an 
arm  as  mighty  as  old  Sir  Guy's  to  wield  it  with- 
al, and  a  way  o'  looking  from  under  his  brows 
that  sendeth  a  boy's  heart  down  into  his  shoes 
an  it  so  chanceth  that  he  hath  not  got  his  lesson 
overwell.  'Tis  strange  how  a  glance  will  make 
the  wits  fly  as  if  they  were  so  many  clouds,  and 
his  look,  marry,  was  like  a  strong  wind  scatter- 


Will  Shakespeare s  Little  Lad       103 

ing  them  away  !  We  have  lessons  in  Syntaxis  in 
the  afternoon  that  we  must  e'en  say  memoriter, 
then  must  we  construe  and  parse  all  the  words 
that  hold  the  force  o'  the  rule.  Two  days  in  the 
week  there  are  lessons  in  yEsop's  Fables,  and 
other  two  days  in  Cato,  which  we  must  construe 
and  parse  likewise  and  say  out  Cato  by  heart. 
And  Fridays  must  we  e'en  translate  those  les- 
sons into  English,  construing  one  o'  them  into 
Latin." 

"Now,  I  give  Heaven  thanks  the  week  is 
done." 

"  Nay,  there's  Saturday  for  part  o'  the 
day -" 

"  I  be  glad  I  be  a  little  wench,"  Judith  laughed, 
"  and  need  not  pother  my  head  wi'  such  things. 
Girls  don't  have  to  study,  and  I  shall  always  have 
Hamnet  by  to  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  know; 
only  I  be  like  thee,  Thomas,  I'll  not  want  to  hear 
it  in  Latin,  save  just  the  little  bit  that  maketh  one 
hunger  for  the  English  words.  But  I  liked  that 
about  the  shepherds  telling  o'  their  old  lives  to 
keep  awake.  Tell  us  a  tale  now,  one  that's  true, 
an  thou  canst  not  tell  us  something  about  the 
fairies." 

Thomas  glanced  apprehensively  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  I  wot  nowt  o'  the  fairies,  save  that  they  do 
none  harm  unless  that  they  be  angered  thereto." 


IO4        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

"Nay,  Gillian  saith  they  do,  and  'tis  best  we 
pray  to  be  kept  from  their  evil  devices." 

"  Believe  it  na,  lass.  Gillian  knoweth  novvt, 
though  I  be  thinkin'  she  felt  their  anger  herself 
in  her  young  days.  Doubtless  she  touched  an 
elfin's  ring  all  shinin'  wi'  drops  when  she  went 
forth  wi'  the  other  wenches  to  gather  May-dew, 
for  her  beauty's  not  overmuch  to  look  at  now. 
'Tis  small  wonder  she  prayeth  to  be  kept  from 
their  furder  wroth.  But  'twas  she  affronted  'em 
fust — 'tis  a  way  she  hath  !  Speak  'em  fair  and 
do  'em  no  ill,  little  maid,  so  wull  they  only  help 
thee." 

"  Dost  know  how  to  go  invisible  ?  " 

Thomas  shifted  uneasily  and  turned  an  anxious 
eye  upon  the  speaker.  "  There  be-eth  ferneseed 
now,"  he  muttered. 

"  Oh!  ay,  but  verily,  Thomas,  'twill  not  work," 
Hamnet  rejoined,  in  eager  tones.  "  Once  long 
agone  I  found  me  some,  or  what  looked  like  it,  and 
I  swallowed  it  quick ;  then  I  climbed  me  into  the 
buttery  window  to  get  at  the  marchpane  Gillian 
had  but  just  made,  and  she,  turning,  spied  me 
and,  thwack  !  thwack  !  went  her  broom.  I*  faith, 
I  was  not  invisible,  as  my  poor  back  could  vouch. 
But  I  have  heard  o'  a  better  way,  and  'tis  e'en 
like  this ;  come  close,  the  both  o'  ye,  and  Silver 
and  Crab  mount  guard :  '  Take  water  and  pour  it 
upon  an  ant-hill,  and  look  immediately  after  and 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       105 

ye  shall  find  a  stone  o'  divers  colours  sent  from 
the  fairies.  This  bear  in  your  right  hand  and  ye 
shall  go  invisible.' " 

"  A  stone,  say'st  thou  ?  "  Judith  asked,  cautious- 
ly. "  Is't  what  my  Grandam  Hathaway  meaneth 
by  a  lucky  stone,  or  is't  what  father  told  us  was 
the  'losopher's  stone?  Wilt  seek  it,  Hamnet,  and 
when?  Thou  dost  not  truly  think  we  can  go 
invisible,  dost  thou?" 

"  Nay,  then,  how  can  I  say  ?  In  good  sooth  I 
shall  search  for  it  some  day,  and  thou  may'st 
come  wi'  me,  but  thou  must  not  breathe  a  word 
o'  this.  Come,  promise." 

He  stretched  out  his  little  finger  and  linked 
it  with  hers  while  they  both  said  solemnly  to- 
gether : 

" '  Ring  finger,  blue  bell, 
Tell  a  lie  and  go  to  hell.' " 

When  that  ceremony  was  over,  the  boy  insisted 
upon  a  repetition  of  it  with  the  shepherd,  and  thus, 
having  bound  his  hearers  to  secrecy,  he  was  en- 
abled to  continue  his  conversation. 

"  An  ever  I  go  invisible,"  he  said,  sitting  back 
on  his  heels  and  resuming  his  natural  tone  of 
voice,  "  I'll  be  even  with  Gillian  for  the  drubbing 
she  gave  me — I'll  eat  her  marchpane  and  her 
caraways  ;  I'll  spirit  them  all  away  to  Weir 
Brake  and  feast  the  boys.  Thou  shalt  have  my 


io6        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

stone  sometimes,  Judith,  sweet — tell  me  what 
thou  wilt  do  with  it." 

"  Methinks  I'll  hold  it  very  close  and  steal  soft 
to  where  Susanna  and  her  gossip  sit  and  listen 
to  their  talk.  They've  many  secrets,  and  they 
say  so  oft  when  I  come  by,  '  Hem  !  small  pitchers 
have  great  ears,'  and  fall  a-laughing.  So  I'll 
e'en  hearken  when  they  see  me  not,  and  then 
flout  them  after,  and  make  as  if  some  little  bird 
flying  through  the  air  had  whispered  their  say- 
ings to  me.  But  an  thou  goest  invisible,  fair 
brother,  what  will  poor  Silver  do  ?  " 

Hamnet  rubbed  his  chin  reflectively;  for  the 
moment,  he  had  left  his  dog  out  of  his  calcu- 
lations. 

"  An  I  had  the  stone,  I  could  get  cates  for  him 
in  plenty,"  he  said,  slowly,  "  but  he'd  liefer  go 
without,  I  wot,  and  see  me  than  have  all  the 
cates  in  Christendom.  Nay,  then,  I'll  not  e'en 
seek  the  stone;  thou  may'st,  an  thou  list,  thou 
and  Thomas,  but  tempt  me  not.  I  make  my  share 
over  to  thee." 

Judith  looked  off  at  the  sunny  meadows  and  up 
at  the  hot,  cloudless  sky,  then  her  glance  came 
back  to  her  companions  lolling  comfortably  in 
the  shade.  She  patted  her  gown  softly. 

"Twill  keep,"  she  murmured,  "'twill  keep; 
there's  no  such  hurry ;  I  can  seek  the  stone  any 
time.  I'd  liefer  stay  here  wi'  thee  and  watch  the 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       107 

sheep  ;  and  that  we  may  not  sleep  and  danger 
come,  we'll  e'en  pretend  we  be  shepherds,  and 
we'll  talk  o'  our  old  lives." 

"  Hurrah  !  Jude,"  Hamnet  shouted  ;  "  I  do  pro- 
test I  like  the  game  passing  well.  Here,  thou 
must  have  the  crook  to  hold,  and  Crab  shall  stay 
by  thee  an  he  were  thy  very  dog;  and,  Silver, 
lie  thou  close  to  me — so !  I'll  keep  thy  cloak, 
Thomas,  about  my  knees — the  air  is  chill,  me- 
thinks.  And  thou  may'st  have  thy  bonnet  and, 
yea,  thy  bottle.  Now  we  look  like  real  shep- 
herds, i'  faith.  Come,  Judith,  begin — begin — 'tis 
thy  own  thought." 

"  La,  now,  I  prithee,  do  not  ask  me,"  Judith 
protested,  with  more  the  air  of  a  fine  lady  than  a 
simple  country  bumpkin  ;  "  I  have  no  wit.  I'll 
e'en  listen  to  thee  and  Thomas." 

"  In  sooth,  thou  must  say  something,  or  spoil 
the  sport.  'Tis  not  hard  when  once  thou  hast 
made  a  beginning.  Come,  I'll  help  thee — once  on 
a  time " 

"  Once  on  a  time — marry  and  amen !  I  can 
think  o'  naught ;  and  yet  I  would  not  vex 
thee."  She  drew  her  brows  together  in  thought; 
then  her  face  cleared.  "  I'll  e'en  sing  a  verse 
from  the  Coventry  pageant  that  grandam  hath 
so  oft  told  us  of.  'Tis  not  new  to  thee,  Ham- 
net,  but  it  must  serve,  and  'tis  about  the  shep- 
herds." 


io8        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

She  paused  for  a  minute,  then  beating  the  air 
softly  with  the  crook  she  sang : 

"'  As  I  outrode  this  enders  night 

Of  three  joli  shepherdes  I  saw  a  sight  ' 

("  We're  three  jolly  shepherds  too,  I  ween  ! ) 

'  And  all  about  their  folde  a  starre  shone  bright ; 
They  sang  terli,  terlow, 
So  merrilie  the  shepherdes  their  pipes  can  blow.'  " 

"  Now  afore  Heaven  a  pious  song  an*  a  godly," 
Thomas  cried.  "  Sing  's  another  verse,  wench." 

After  a  moment's  hesitation  Judith  went  on  in 
her  sweet,  childish  treble : 

"  '  Down  from  heavene,  from  heavene  so  highe, 
Of  angels  there  came  a  great  compame. 
With  mirth  and  joy  and  great  solemnitie. 
They  sang  terli,  terlow, 
So  merrilie  the  shepherdes  their  pipes  can  blow.' 

"  'Tis  thy  turn  now,  Hamnet,"  she  said,  when 
she  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  carol. 

"  Methinks  'tis  bitter  cold,"  he  mumbled,  with 
chattering  teeth,  "else  'tis  the  rheumaticisms 
hath  crept  into  my  old  bones  these  bitter  nights. 
A  plague  o'  sitting  here  year  after  year ! "  he 
broke  off  coughing. 

Judith  clapped  her  hands  in  delight. 

"  I  knew  thou'dst  find  the  way,"  she  cried,  with 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       109 

no  tinge  of  envy  in  her  voice ;  "  but  go  on — go 
on  !  " 

"  I  mind  me  o'  many  things,"  he  continued. 
"Now  it  so  befell  upon  a  day."  He  paused  and 
cast  a  wary  glance  around. 

"  Nay  then,  brothers,"  he  went  on,  in  a  blood- 
curdling whisper,  "  hist !  there's  fearsome  noises 
abroad,  and  mark  yon  shadow  stealing  through 
the  hedge.  Avaunt  there,  avaunt!  " 

Judith  dropped  her  badge  of  office  and  threw 
herself  face  downwards  upon  the  ground,  cling- 
ing to  Thomas  in  her  terror  and  screaming  with 
all  her  might  while  the  two  dogs  added  their 
voices  to  the  hurly-burly. 

"Tis  but  play,"  Hamnet  cried,  in  superior 
tones ;  "  thou  art  a  very  baby  girl  to  be  afeard." 

Judith  sat  up  and  pushed  back  the  curls  that 
had  escaped  from  her  coif  with  a  trembling  hand 
and  Thomas  looked  as  silly  as  one  of  his  own 
sheep. 

"  'Twas  so  very  like,"  the  little  maid  declared, 
"  so  very  like,  I  could  have  sworn  I  heard  a 
growling.  I  prithee  pardon  me  for  bringing  thee 
out ;  I'll  not  be  so  frighted  again." 

"  Marry,  I'll  not  fright  thee.  That  was  not  in 
the  tale  anyway ;  I  did  but  make  pretence  a  lion, 
or  a  tiger  was  coming  for  the  sheep.  But  there  ! 
'tis  gone ;  we  frighted  him  off  wi'  our  shrieks. 
Well  done,  brave  shepherds,  well  done,  valiant 


no        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

men,  our  flocks  are  safe  once  more.  Now  to  my 
tale.  'Twas  upon  a  day — nay,  I'll  not  tell  that. 
H'm!  let  me  think.  Why  !  Judith,  sweet,  I'll  e'en 
tell  a  tale  o'  those  three  shepherds  thou  wert 
singing  of  but  now.  They  were  sore  mazed  that 
night  with  the  star's  shining  ;  'twas  brighter  than 
the  moon  and  sun  put  together,  and  it  danced 
and  danced  as  it  moved  across  the  sky,  leaving  a 
great  roadway  o*  light  in  's  track.  Now,  one  o' 
the  shepherds  was  full  o'  heaviness,  but  when 
he  looked  up  and  saw  the  star  he  was  exceeding 
glad,  though  he  knew  not  why.  He'd  a  wish  in  's 
heart  and  he  said  it  o'er  quick;  he  knew  that 
whatever  one  wisheth  during  a  star's  flight  will 
surely  come  true,  though  he  wist  not  that  when 
it  doth  happen  one  is  ever  sorry.  He  would  not 
have  felt  that  way ;  his  was  a  fair  wish,  and  thou 
could'st  not  guess  it,  I  warrant  me,  an  thou'dst 
try  six  Sundays  running.  So  I  must  e'en  tell 
thee. 

"  This  shepherd  had  a  little  lad  o'  his  own,  not 
any  older  than  our  cousin  Philip  Shakespeare,  and 
not  so  big  nor  strong ;  he  was  crookbacked  and 
could  not  walk.  Now  it  so  chanced  that  long 
before,  when  the  little  lad  was  but  a  babe,  his 
father  coming  home  one  day  was  wroth — he  was 
in  's  cups — and  the  baby,  creeping  out  to  meet 
him,  got  in  's  way,  whereupon  did  the  father 
knock  him  with  his  crook,  and  the  baby  fell  down 


Will  Shakespeare s  Little  Lad       in 

the  deep  ditch  by  the  side  o'  the  house.  And 
after  the  first  cry  there  was  no  more  sound,  so 
that  the  father  was  frighted,  and  gathered  the 
child  in  's  arms  and  called  him  all  sweet  names — 
oh !  he  was  sober  enow  then,  I  promise  thee. 
'Twas  long  before  the  baby  oped  his  eyes,  and 
then  it  fell  a-moaning,  and  the  poor  man  could  do 
naught  to  ease  the  pain.  Nay,  Jude,  sweet  Jude, 
leave  off  crying,  else  I  must  e'en  stop  ;  'twill  all 
come  right  an  thou  hast  the  patience  to  listen. 

"  The  baby  didn't  die,  but  he  didn't  get  well 
neither — he  could  not  walk  at  all  and  he  was  ever 
ailing.  And  his  father  loved  him  so  much,  and 
though  he  knew  that  the  little  lad  loved  him  best 
o'  everyone,  he  never  could  forgive  himself  for 
what  he'd  done,  but  he  must  needs  think  still  and 
always  :  '  Oh,  an  I  could  only  make  my  son  well  ! ' 
So  there  was  the  wish  in  his  heart,  and  that  night, 
when  that  he  saw  the  star,  he  whispered  it  as 
he'd  whispered  it  an  hundred  times  before.  But 
'twas  the  strangest  star !  It  didn't  flash  out  o' 
the  heavens  into  the  nowhere ;  it  just  kept  mov- 
ing and  shining  and  beckoning,  each  point  a  little 
hand,  and  all  about  there  were  soft  voices  crying, 
'Follow!  follow!' 

"  Then  did  he  and  his  brother  shepherds  get 
them  up  and  go  after,  treading  swiftly  till  they 
reached  a  low,  dark  byre,  and  they  said  among 
themselves  how  strange  it  was  to  come  all  that 


112         Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

way  just  for  that,  and  they  were  going  forward. 
But  the  star  stayed  there  with  a  great  shining, 
and  anon  the  voices  cried  :  '  Enter — enter — wor- 
ship— worship.'  So  they  went  within,  and  found 
the  little  Jesus  lying  amidst  the  straw  with  his 
mother  sitting  by  and  singing  soft.  Whereupon 
did  each  one  make  his  reverence ;  but  my  shep- 
herd, coming  last,  stopped  and  looked  with  all  's 
heart  in  's  eyes,  and  the  woman,  speaking  low, 
said: 

"  '  Thou'rt  a  good  man,  verily,  an  little  children 
be  so  dear  to  thee.' 

"And  he  made  answer: 
"  '  I  be  no  good  man,  Madam  lady.' 
"  Then  he  up  and  told  his  story,  whereat  the 
Mother  Mary's  tears  did  flow,  but  she  said : 

" '  Nay,  thou'rt  good  now,  and  thou  art  truly 
sorry.  May  Heaven's  blessings  fall  on  thy  own 
lad.' 

"  And  even  as  she  spoke  the  little  Baby  Jesus 
smiled  with  his  soft  eyes,  and  put  out  one  tiny 
hand.  Then  on  a  sudden  did  my  shepherd  feel 
his  heart  leap  within  him,  and  he  turned  and  went 
out  into  the  night.  There  was  a  glad  song  o' 
angels  in  the  air  all  about,  but  he  heeded  it  not. 
He'd  no  thought  o'  anything  but  just  his  little 
child.  So  he  sped  on,  and  lo  !  as  he  came  to  his 
home  the  door  was  oped  from  within,  and  there 
on  the  sill  was  his  very  own  little  son — straight 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       113 

and  strong  and  wondrous  fair  to  see.  And  when 
the  father  stood  still,  as  he  were  in  a  dream  and 
could  not  move,  the  little  lad  ran  forward  and 
put  his  arms  about  him  and  led  him  into  the 
house." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  Judith 
drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Oh !  I  be  so  glad,"  she  cried,  as  she  leaned 
across  Whittington  and  patted  her  brother's  arm ; 
"  'twas  a  brave  ending,  but  I  wish  thou  could'st 
tell  what  they  did  once  they  were  within  the 
house." 

"  I'  faith  !  there's  no  more  to  the  tale — the  door 
was  made  fast.  But  I  wot  they  were  happy  to- 
gether, thus  much  hath  floated  out  through  the 
chinks  and  cracks.  And  now  'tis  for  Thomas  to 
keep  us  awake." 

"  That  I  canna  do,  I  ha'  nowt  to  say.  A  shep- 
herd's life  be-eth  a  goodly  life,  but  'tis  over-quiet ; 
still  I'd  na  change  it  for  another.  Here  I  be  con- 
tent wi'  my  sheep  an'  eanlings  around  me,  an'  if 
the  sun  shineth,  why,  welcome  to  its  shinin' ;  an'  if 
the  rain  raineth,  why,  'tis  wull  for  all  livin'  creat- 
ures. Marry,  'tis  a  goodly  world." 

"  That's  never  a  tale,  Thomas,"  Judith  inter- 
rupted, with  much  severity.  "Thou  must  e'en  do 
as  we  did  ;  we'll  not  let  thee  slip.  Tell  us  why  " — 
she  stole  a  glance  at  her  brother  from  under  her 
long  lashes — "  why  thou  singest  '  I  mun  be  mar- 


H4        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

ried  o*  Sunday/  and  then  thou  art  not  married 
at  all." 

"  Hark  to  the  lass ! "  roared  Thomas.  "  Love  an* 
marriage — ho  !  ho  !  'tis  all  the  maids  think  on,  I 
care  na  what  their  age.  'Od's  heartlings !  I'd 
na  marry  any  she  in  Christendom.  I  loike  my  life 
as  'tis,  wi'  Crab  here  for  my  friend." 

"  But  why "  Judith  began. 

"  Every  why  hath  its  own  wherefore,"  Thomas 
returned,  sententiously,  "  an'  I  ha*  my  reasons." 
He  glanced  at  her  suspiciously,  a  sudden  idea 
lighting  his  slow  brain.  "  Was  't  Gillian  set  thee 
on?" 

The  little  maid  brightened  visibly. 

"  Not  so,  'twas  only  me  and  Hamnet  that  won- 
dered." 

"  I'd  liefer  hear  a  tale  o'  the  wars,"  Hamnet 
said,  coming  to  the  rescue.  "  Thou  wast  living 
when  Harry  VIII.  was  king,  and  thou  hast  heard 
talk  o'  divers  battles,  e'en  if  thou  hast  not  seen 
them  ;  but  an  thou  canst  not  remember  any  at  this 
moment,  prithee  tell  us  why  thou  hast  no  good 
wife." 

"  Wert  ever  in  love,  Thomas  ?  "  continued  the 
little  lass,  "  and  didst  have  the  moon-sickness 
and  look  pale  ?  Gillian  saith  thou  wert  a  brave 
fellow  in  thy  youth,  and  never  a  better  tripped  it 
on  the  green." 

"  Gillian  hath  her  good  points,  i'  fecks,  though 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       115 

she  be  curst  o'  tongue  full  oft,"  Thomas  replied, 
good-hum ouredly  ;  "  she  used  to  foot  it  featly 
too.  Lord  !  Lord  !  how  many  years  agone  it  is. 
An'  yet  methinks  I  could  dance  you  a  Rogero  as 
wull  as  another  e'en  at  this  day — ay,  or  a  Pack- 
ington's  Pound.  There  was  one  little  wench,  I 
mind — nay  then,  how  was  she  called? — 'tis  gone 
— 'tis  gone.  But  she  tripped  it  better  than  the 
rest,  an'  up  an'  down,  an'  in  an'  out  she  went. 
She'd  eyes  loike  a  doe's,  an'  as  she  danced  the  red 
come  creepin'  up  i'  her  cheeks.  I  ha'  na  thought 
on  her  these  many  years,  but  it  all  cometh 
back." 

"  Thou  didst  love  her  then." 

"  She  were  a  very  madcap  witch  wi'  her  songs 
an'  her  laughin',  but  I  loved  her  na ;  I  did  but  love 
her  dancin'.  There  was  another  maid  hight  Joan, 
an'  we'd  made  it  up  atween  us  to  marry.  An'  then, 
look  ye,  being  a  woman  an'  fond,  she'd  e'en  ha* 
it  I  cared  more  for  the  lass  I  danced  with ;  so  she 
flouted  me  sore,  whereat — nay,  I  were  but  a  lad — 
I  hied  me  to  all  the  fairs  an'  wakes,  an'  danced 
an'  danced  just  to  show  Mistress  Joan  I  minded 
nowt  her  words.  Then  she  up  an'  married  a 
lout  from  Coventry,  an'  so  the  tale's  ended." 

"But  what  o'  the  other  —  the  maid  wi'  the 
roses  in  her  cheeks  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  wot  na  ;  dead,  surely,  'tis  so  many  years 
agone." 


n6        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

"  Peradventure  she  did  love  thee,"  Judith  said, 
softly. 

"  I  can  na  say ;  she'd  a  merry  tongue  an*  a  light 
heart,  but  after  Joan  went  away  I  sickened  o' 
dancin',  an'  they  said  the  little  wench  came  no 
more  to  the  Green  neither.  So  there's  an  end 
on't !  Wull !  I  be  an  old  man,  now,  an'  I  ha'  had  a 
fair  life — sunshine  an'  shade,  an'  sunshine  again.  I 
owe  no  man  an'  I  envy  no  man,  least  o'  all  that 
lout  i'  Coventry  Joan  married  forty  years  agone 
come  Hallowmas.  They  say  a  made  a  good  end 
an*  a  were  glad  to  go  —  she  grew  so  sharp  o' 
tongue.  Nay,  I  envy  no  man  a's  happiness ;  'tis 
enow  for  I  to  be  here  wi'  Crab.  I  ha'  saved  by 
a  tidy  sum,  an'  it  shall  all  be  thine  some  day,  lad." 

"  Not  so,  Thomas,"  Hamnet  cried,  "  though  I 
thank  thee.  I  need  not  thy  moneys,  surely,  and 
so  my  dear  father  would  say.  Give  it  where 
'twould  be  more  needed  ;  there  be  the  poor  in 
Stratford,  thine  own  home  town." 

"  Soul  an'  body  o'  me  !  I'll  do  what  I  wull  wi' 
my  own.  It  shall  be  thine  an  I  list,  or  the  poor's. 
H'm !  —  that  thought  likes  me  wull,  though  1 
mean  na  for  Stevie  Sly  to  ha'  a  groat  o'  what  I 
ha'  laboured  for.  But  soft!  how  long  the  shad- 
ows ha'  grown." 


CHAPTER  I/Ill 

Beshrew  me  but  I  love  her  heartily  ! 
For  she  is  wise,  if  I  can  judge  of  her  ; 
And  fair  she  is,  if  that  mine  eyes  be  true ; 
And  true  she  is,  as  she  hath  prov'd  herself ; 
And  therefore,  like  herself,  wise,  fair  and  true, 
Shall  she  be  placed  in  my  constant  soul. 

MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

An  angel  is  like  you,  Kate,  and  you  are  like  an  angel. 

HENRY  V. 

IT  was  long  past  high  noon  when  Hamnet,  with 
Silver  tagging  close  at  his  heels,  walked  slow- 
ly through  the  Market-place.  At  that  hour 
it  was  almost  deserted,  though  several  belated 
housewives,  who  were  reputed  to  be  unthrifty, 
were  '  washing  of  their  clothes '  at  the  Town- 
pump  and  hanging  them  on  the  Cross  to  dry,  the 
whiles  their  tongues  were  more  nimble  than  their 
fingers.  The  smocks  and  the  hempen  towels 
flapped  softly  to  and  fro  in  the  faint,  warm  breeze, 
and  the  air  was  noisy  with  the  buzzing  of  the 
flies  gathered  close  about  the  meat  which  some 
butchers  had  also  hung  there  earlier  in  the  day. 

Goody  Baker  was  brushing  the  square  indus- 
triously with  her  broom  of  twigs.     She  was  a  lit- 

n; 


n8        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

tie,  spare  old  woman  bent  almost  double  with 
age  and  the  result  of  her  occupation,  and  as  she 
moved  about  at  her  work,  with  her  dark  gown 
bunched  up  at  the  back,  she  made  one  think  of 
some  curious  bird.  So  that  Silver,  being  of  that 
mind,  forgot  his  dignity,  and  bore  down  upon  her 
with  a  sharp,  yapping  noise,  which  made  her  leap 
a  foot  or  more  in  the  air,  letting  the  shovel  which 
she  carried  under  her  arm  fall  to  the  ground 
with  a  great  clatter.  She  turned  a  wrathful  face 
upon  Hamnet,  her  small,  deep-set  eyes  shooting 
forth  venomous  glances. 

"  Away  wi'  thee,"  she  cried,  brandishing  her 
broom  in  menace,  though  she  kept  ever  on  the 
other  side  of  the  boy ;  "  mind  the  dawg,  or  I'll 
brain  he.  A-frightin'  o'  a  body  this  away.  I 
wull  to  the  Bailly  about  it,  an'  a  wull  gi'  thee  a 
threshin'  for  settin'  o'  great  beastises  on  an  old 
wummun  as  doeth  her  duty  in  rain  or  shine  from 
sun  to  sun.  There's  na  idlin'  here  ;  go  to  Gaffer 
Raven — keep  he  to  's  work.  I  warrant  me  a 
breshes  na  Sir  Hughie's  bridge  as  clean  as  I  do- 
eth this  Market-place." 

Hamnet  laughed  and  whistled  Silver  close. 
There  was  a  feud  of  long  standing  between  the 
two  street-cleaners,  each  one  accusing  the  other 
of  idling,  and  each  jealous  of  the  other's  suprem- 
acy. Of  the  two,  Hamnet  preferred  Old  Raven, 
who  had  charge  of  the  bridge,  and  who,  besides, 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       119 

was  a  splendid  hand  at  a  story  and  ever  ready  for 
an  excuse  to  pause  from  his  labours.  Goody 
Baker  was  like  a  little,  clattering,  chattering  mag- 
pie, with  a  temper  like  a  witch,  and  there  were 
those  who  hinted  that  she  did  strange  things 
with  her  broom  when  the  day  was  done.  Some 
of  the  rougher  boys  pestered  her  shamefully, 
tracking  mud  and  brushwood  over  the  places  she 
had  spent  hours  in  cleaning,  and  then  mocked 
her  at  a  safe  distance  from  her  broom  while  she 
made  the  spot  hideous  with  her  imprecations  and 
threats.  Hamnet  had  ever  thought  it  a  shame  to 
tease  her,  but  now  he  came  in  for  a  full  share  of 
her  anger. 

"  La,  Goody,"  he  cried,  soothingly,  when  she 
was  forced  to  pause  for  lack  of  breath,  "  Silver 
meant  no  harm  ;  he's  full  o'  life  this  day,  and  be- 
like he  thought  'twas  some  kind  o'  game  to  see 
thee  hopping  about ;  but  he'll  not  fright  thee 
again." 

"  Na,  I  wull  see  that  a  doan't,"  the  old  woman 
muttered.  "An*  hoppin,'  say'st  thou?  Marry, 
the  Muster  Bailly  wull  show  thee  what  hoppin' 
be-eth.  I'll  tell  he  maself  how  young  Muster 
Combe  set  's  dawg  on  ma  poor  heelses." 

"  I'm  not  Tom  Combe,"  the  lad  interrupted. 
"  My  name  is  Hamnet  Shakespeare,  and  I  live  in 
Henley  Street  at  my  grandfather's  house." 

"  Oh  !  ay,  forsooth,  I  knows  thee  wull.     Mus- 


I2O        Will  Shakespeares  Little  Lad 

ter  Wully  Shaxper — a  that's  play-actor  i'  Lun- 
non — 's  thy  faither.  A  gi'ed  I  a  saxpence  when  a 
was  here  last,  an'  a  saith  there  was  na  such  shinin' 
stuns  i'  Lunnon  as  here.  An'  that  to  I  an'  na  to 
yon  witless  loon,  Raven,  at  the  Bridge.  An'  a 
saith,  besides,  that  oncet  i'  Lunnon  town,  when 
the  Queen  were  passing  by,  the  stuns  there  be-eth 
so  dirty  she'd  a-mucked  her  shoon,  but  a  young 
gallant  from  the  coort  spread  's  cloak  down  i'  the 
mud,  so  that  she  went  o'er  'thout  'filin'  o'  her  feet, 
an'  she  made  a  lord  o'  he  on  the  spot.  But  an 
I'd  been  the  Queen,  I'd  ha'  gi'ed  he  a  tonguin' 
for  usin'  's  cloak  that  away.  Wilful  waste  mak- 
eth  woful  want,  an'  a  wull  coome  to  that  some 
day.  An'  thy  faither  saith  the  Queen  'ud  need 
na  ploosh  cloaks  here  whur  I  be  wi'  ma  broom. 
Dost  think  she  wull  ever  come  this  way  ?  " 

"  I'  faith,  I  cannot  tell.  She  was  at  Kenilworth 
when  that  my  father  was  a  little  lad,  and  there 
was  monstrous  fine  doings  there,  he's  told  me  o' 
them  oft,  but  she  came  not  hither.  Like  as  not 
she'll  not  leave  London,  where  'tis  so  grand." 

"  Go  to !  'tis  not  so  grand.  Thy  own  faither 
saith  my  stuns  be  cleaner ;  a  saith  that  to  I,  an'  a 
gi'ed  I  a  saxpence  besides,  an*  a  saith  that  oncet 
the  Queen " 

"  Yea,  yea,  I  know  ;  but  I  must  hasten  now," 
Hamnet  interposed,  "  so  give  thee  good  den." 

"  An'  a  did  na  say  that  to  Raven  nayther,"  the 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       121 

old  woman  bawled  after  the  boy.  "  'Twas  just  to 
I.  An'  so  thou  mayest  go  thy  ways  ;  I  wull  na 
tell  the  Muster  Bailly,  for  thy  faither's  sake,  for  a 
gi'ed  I  a  saxpence  an'  a  saith " 

Happily  for  Hamnet,  however,  he  was  already 
out  of  hearing,  giving  vent  to  the  mirth  which  he 
had  so  manfully  suppressed  in  Goody's  presence. 
It  was  the  first  time  she  had  taken  him  into  her 
confidence,  though  Raven,  with  whom  he  often 
foregathered,  had  always  much  to  say  in  praise  of 
his  father.  For  sweet  Master  Will  Shakespeare^ 
riding  to  and  from  Stratford,  had  ever  a  nod  and 
a  word  for  the  bridge-cleaner,  and  something  bet- 
ter, look  you !  than  either.  Something  bright 
and  clinking  that  found  its  way,  or  soon  or  late, 
to  the  Bear  or  the  Crown  in  Bridge  Street,  and 
thence,  liquefied,  to  Raven's  inner  man  ;  at  which 
times  he  would  not  have  exchanged  his  state — 
no,  not  for  the  Master  High-Bailiff's,  nor  for  a 
king's  for  that  matter ! 

Hamnet,  once  away  from  Goody's  noisy  tongue, 
walked  quickly  past  the  Market  Cross.  At  one 
side  he  could  see  the  pillory  and  the  whipping- 
post, and  he  knew  there  must  be  a  man  in  the 
stocks,  for  a  group  of  idlers  hanging  about  jeered 
at  the  unfortunate,  whose  case  was  like  to  be 
their  own  at  no  distant  date  unless  they  mend- 
ed their  ways.  The  boy  tossed  his  head  impa- 
tiently, and  a  hot  flush  crimsoned  his  sensitive 


122        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

face,  while  he  clinched  his  little  brown  fists.  He 
had  small  toleration  for  those  who,  when  a  man 
was  down,  were  ready  with  their  taunts  and 
mockery  ;  that  was  the  time,  according  to  his 
mind,  when  one  should  give  nothing  but  sym- 
pathy. 

"  An  I  were  the  Master  Bailiff,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  I'd  set  'em  all  in  the  stocks  for  baiting  a 
poor  wretch  so.  'Twould  be  a  monstrous  good 
thing  for  'em,  I  warrant." 

He  turned  into  High  Street,  forgetting  on  the 
moment  his  amendment  of  justice  in  the  inspec- 
tion he  bestowed  upon  Master  Rogers's  fine  new 
house.  He  had  watched  it  building  with  the 
greatest  interest,  following  with  delight  the  mas- 
ter carver's  hand  as  the  fleur-de-lys  and  the  inter- 
lacing designs  grew  on  the  wood-work  in  front 
under  the  skilled  fingers.  Now  it  was  quite 
complete  and  the  family  had  moved  in,  though 
there  was  still  a  bit  of  the  workman's  scaffolding 
beneath  the  second  story  windows  where  the  fin' 
ishing  touches  had  just  been  put  to  the  letters 
"  A.  R.,"  which  stood  for  Alice  Rogers,  the  sec- 
ond wife  of  Master  Thomas  Rogers,  whose  ini- 
tials, with  the  date  of  the  year,  also  decorated  the 
front. 

Hamnet's  feet  lagged  a  trifle  as  he  glanced  at 
an  open  casement  where  a  green  curtain  stirred 
softly  in  the  breeze.  He  knew  all  about  the  room 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       123 

within.  His  mother  was  Mistress  Rogers's  good 
friend,  and  had  already  seen  the  interior  of  the 
new  house,  and  this  especial  room,  with  the  win- 
dow seat  just  back  of  that  pretty  curtain,  whereon 
there  were  three  fine  cushions,  also  made  of  green. 

"  Good-morrow,  little  page  o'  all  loves,"  a  girl's 
voice  above  him  called  softly.  "  Whither  away  ? 
An  thou  hast  an  idle  minute  to  spend  come  in, 
thou  and  thy  shadow,  Master  Silver." 

Hamnet's  hand  went  up  to  the  flat,  gray  cover- 
ing on  his  auburn  locks,  and  he  off-capped  in  the 
direction  of  the  window. 

"  Is't  thou,  sweet  Mistress  Kate  ?  "  he  asked, 
eagerly.  "  Silver  and  I  were  off  to  Aunt  Joan's ; 
a  letter  is  but  now  come  from  father  from  London 
town,  and  I  must  acquaint  her  with  it,  so  hath 
my  grandam  saith.  But  there  is  no  such  hurry. 
I'  faith,  'twill  keep  ;  'tis  only  the  bad  news,  they 
say,  that  travels  quickly,  and  this  is  the  blithest, 
blithest  news.  My  father  will  be  coming  hither  in 
a  scant  four  weeks'  time,  and  oh  !  Mistress  Kate, 
he  hath  writ  me  a  letter,  besides,  and  a  verse  o' 
poesy  with  his  very  hand.  I  have  it  here,  fast 
by  my  heart.  I  would  show  it  thee,  an  thou 
carest  to  look." 

"  Indeed,  la,  I  do  care,  so  come  up,  sweeting,  the 
door  is  not  made  fast.  I  am  all  alone  in  the  house, 
save  for  Marian,  in  the  buttery.  My  father  and 
mother  are  away  to  Coventry." 


124        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

The  next  moment,  for  scarce  longer  it  seemed, 
both  boy  and  dog  were  in  the  pretty  new  room, 
where  the  light  coming  in  at  the  window  through 
the  curtain  was  like  the  summer  sunshine  flicker- 
ing through  the  leaves  in  the  woods.  A  little 
golden  fleck,  where  the  curtain  sagged  between 
the  rings,  danced  persistently  upon  young  Mis- 
tress Katharine  Rogers's  winsome  face  beneath 
her  demure  little  cap.  She  was  leaning  back 
against  the  cushions,  her  lute  held  lightly  in  her 
lap  ;  but  at  Hamnet's  approach  she  laid  it  down 
on  a  stool  and  rose  to  greet  him,  kissing  his  up- 
turned face  fondly,  and  pulling  Silver's  ears  with 
her  pretty  hands. 

"  Thou'rt  welcome,"  she  cried.  "  Come,  sit 
thou  here,  dear  heart,  and  tell  me  what's  the  news 
abroad.  How  doth  all  thy  good  people :  sweet 
Mistress  Mary  Shakespeare  and  thy  sweet  mother, 
too,  and  how  is  my  dear  gossip,  Sue?  And  what 
makest  thou  from  thy  afternoon  lessons,  fair 
sir?" 

"  Why,  'tis  a  half-holiday.  Methinks  Sir  John 
will  not  live  long,  he  hath  grown  so  kind  o'  late ; 
or  belike  he  is  fathoms  deep  in  love  with  some 
gentle  lady,  for  he  is  so  monstrous  dove-like." 

"  I  pray  Heaven  she  will  not  make  him  wear  the 
willow,"  Mistress  Katharine  laughed,  "  else  will 
you  boys  feel  the  birch.  The  trees  grow  side  by 
side." 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad        125 

Hamnet  rubbed  his  shins  apprehensively,  and 
made  a  droll  grimace.  "  Amen  !  "  he  answered. 
"  I'  faith,  I  hope  she'll  love  him  passing  well,  for 
our  sakes,  if  not  for  his  own." 

He  looked  for  a  moment  about  the  room  with 
its  new  adornings,  its  bits  of  tapestry  on  the 
walls,  and  its  high-backed  settle  near  the  chim- 
ney, which  was  also  flanked  by  two  capacious 
chairs.  Then  his  eyes  came  back  to  the  girl  at 
his  side.  She  was  just  budding  into  womanhood, 
a  fair  slip  of  a  maid  with  a  roguish  glance,  and 
a  sweet,  oft-recurring  smile,  and  a  low  voice 
that  was  ever  singing.  Hamnet  felt  all  a  lad's 
love  for  the  pretty  creature,  who  was  a  few  years 
his  senior,  and  yet  who  seemed  to  care  for  his 
companionship.  He  had  worshipped  her  after 
the  fashion  boys  have,  from  afar,  glad  of  her  smile 
when  she  met  him,  and  treasuring  up  the  remem- 
brance of  whatever  words  of  greeting  she  let  fall, 
and  dreaming  often  of  the  time  when  she  would 
guess  what  was  in  his  heart  for  her.  Then,  when 
he  had  least  expected  it,  there  had  come  that 
happy  day  on  which  she  had  rewarded  all  his 
faithful  devotion. 

And  this  was  the  way  it  befell :  There  was  a 
gathering  of  young  people  at  old  John  Combe's 
house,  that  which  had  once  been  the  college  in 
Old  Town  over  against  the  church.  She  was 
there,  and  Edmund,  who  was  near  her  age,  and 


126        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

the  other  big  boys  had  formed  a  train  about  her, 
urging  her  to  dance,  or  sing,  or  play  at  stool-ball 
in  the  wide  gardens.  Hamnet  was  one  of  the 
little  fellows  just  looking  on.  He  remembered 
distinctly  how  he  and  Tom  Combe  and  Francis 
Collyns,  his  two  dear  friends,  had  crowded  with 
the  other  children  about  the  window  when  the 
first  sound  of  the  fiddles  within,  squeaking  out 
the  notes,  '  Kiss  Her,'  heralded  the  '  Cushion 
dance.'  'Twas  always  such  rare  sport  to  watch. 

Edmund  Shakespeare  held  the  cushion  in  his 
hand  and  danced  about  the  room,  skimming  over 
the  ground  as  light  as  ever  swallow  dipped  above 
Avon.  He  bore  himself  right  bravely  that  day  as 
Hamnet  was  more  than  ready  to  admit.  He  was 
fond  of  his  young  uncle  in  the  main,  though  he 
could  not  always  conquer  his  jealousy  when  Ned 
talked  so  much  of  London  and  brother  Will.  At 
such  moments  he  almost  hated  the  fresh-faced 
stripling.  In  every  other  thing  they  were  the  best 
of  friends,  and  the  little  lad,  looking  on  at  the 
dance,  was  proud  of  the  graceful  figure  flitting 
hither  and  yon.  Suddenly  his  heart  gave  a  great 
thump  under  his  Sunday  doublet,  for  Ned  had 
dropped  the  cushion  right  in  front  of  pretty  Mis- 
tress Katharine  Rogers,  who  half-turned  her  back 
upon  her  kneeling  suitor.  Hamnet  clinched  his 
fists.  Faith,  now,  but  Ned  was  a  daring  wight ! 

The  gay  tune  went  on  mockingly  for  a  minute, 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       127 

then  Ned  lifted  up  the  cushion  and  turned  him 
toward  the  end  of  the  room  where  the  fiddlers 
were  sitting  and  sang :  '  This  dance  it  will  no 
further  go.'  When  he  had  finished  his  wail  the 
musicians,  affecting  a  great  show  of  interest,  sang 
in  their  turn :  '  1  pray  you,  good  sir,  why  say  you 
so  ? '  At  which  he  sang  again  :  '  Because  Kath- 
arine Rogers  will  not  come  to.'  Whereupon  the 
fiddles  scraped  furiously  as  'twere  a  lot  of  hor- 
nets let  loose,  and  the  music-makers — an  they 
were  very  gods  and  ruled  mankind — roared  out 
right  lustily  :  '  She  must  come  to,  she  shall  come 
to,  and  she  must  come,  whether  she  will  or  no.' 

So  Ned,  with  a  sly  twinkle  in  his  eyes — the 
rogue,  for  well  he  knew  the  rules  of  the  dance — 
laid  the  cushion  down  again  and  knelt  thereon, 
and  the  maid,  with  many  pretty  Routings,  knelt 
too,  whereat  Ned  sang :  '  Welcome,  Katharine 
Rogers,'  and  kissed  her  blushing  cheek.  That 
done  they  both  rose  them  up  and  bore  the  cush- 
ion between  them,  singing :  '  Prinkam,  prankum 
is  a  fair  dance,  and  shall  we  go  dance  it  once  again, 
and  once  again,  and  shall  we  go  dance  it  once 
again?' 

Then  it  was  her  turn  to  make  a  choice,  and 
Hamnet,  from  his  post  at  the  window,  felt  his 
heart  leap  again,  but  with  a  difference.  Ned's 
seeking  her  out  showed  that  to  his  thinking  she 
was  the  fairest  in  the  company  (as  was  the  truth  !), 


128        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

but  it  was  no  sure  sign  of  her  own  feelings.  Twas 
only  now  that  she  was  to  make  her  selection  that 
they  would  be  known,  and  the  youth  she  chose 
was  the  one  to  be  jealous  of  and  to  fight  with  and 
overcome — in  one's  dreams,  if  nowhere  else. 

Mistress  Katharine  Rogers  took  the  cushion 
from  her  companion  and  advanced  alone  into  the 
centre  of  the  room.  She  darted  one  swift  glance 
around  at  the  merry-makers  in  the  wide  circle 
and  at  the  on-lookers  thronging  the  windows  and 
doors  ;  then  she  stepped  forward  to  one  window, 
and  the  westering  sun,  peeping  in  at  the  sport  over 
the  heads  of  the  children,  kissed  her  fair  face  un- 
rebuked.  She  came  on  and  on,  the  dimples  deep- 
ening in  her  rosy  cheeks,  and  suddenly  she  cast 
the  cushion  before  her  on  the  floor. 

There  was  a  stir  among  the  small  boys  like  the 
little  murmur  Avon  makes  lapping  the  cool 
green  rushes  along  its  banks.  Tom  Combe 
nudged  Francis  Collyns  slyly  in  the  ribs,  as 
though  to  say  :  '  Thou  art  the  lucky  man  !  ' 
whereupon  Francis  threw  back  his  head  proudly 
and  stretched  up  a  full  inch,  while  little  Tom 
Quiney  laughed  boisterously  in  his  shrill  fashion. 
Only  Hamnet  stood  very  still.  He  was  glad  his 
rival  was  to  be  about  his  size — there  was  such  a 
good  ducking  place  in  a  pool  hard  by !  His  head 
was  spinning  and  the  fiddles  mocked  him  in  his 
misery.  He  stared  resolutely  at  the  top  of  the 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       129 

door  opposite  ;  but  though  he  was  thus  blinded  to 
what  was  taking  place,  he  could  still  hear  Mistress 
Katharine's  voice  as  she  sang  despairingly  :  'This 
dance  it  will  no  further  go.'  And  then,  when  the 
musicians  had  asked  in  their  turn  for  her  reason, 
she  sang  again,  and  there  was,  oh !  such  a  little, 
pathetic  hint  of  heart-break  in  her  sweet  tones : 
'  Because  Hamnet  Shakespeare  will  not  come  to ! ' 

Why,  he  didn't  wait  for  the  musicians'  com- 
mands— in  one  bound  he  had  cleared  the  window- 
sill  and  was  kneeling  before  her  while  they  were 
still  singing.  What  did  he  care  for  the  shouts  of 
merriment  all  around?  She  sang  'Welcome!' 
right  heartily,  and  kissed  him  on  the  lips,  and  then, 
before  them  all,  she  took  a  flower  from  her  gown 
and  kissed  it  softly  and  stuck  it  behind  his  ear. 
So  they  both  rose  and  sang,  '  Prinkum,  prankum,' 
and  throughout  the  rest  of  the  dance  they  were 
side  by  side  until  the  end,  when,  everyone  being 
in  the  ring,  each  went  out  as  he  came  in,  with 
'  Farewell ! '  sung  instead  of '  Welcome  ! ' 

Since  that  day's  pleasuring  at  the  Combes',  a 
twelvemonth  gone  now,  she  was  ever  his  true 
lady-love,  and  had  bestowed  many  favours  upon 
him.  Now  'twas  a  gilt  nutmeg  at  Christmas- 
tide  and  anon  a  little  hankercher  of  less  than 
four  inches  square,  wrought  round  with  silken 
thread  and  with  a  small  tassel  at  each  corner 
and  a  tiny  one  in  the  centre.  She  had  shown 
9 


130        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

him  how  to  fold  it  in  four  cross  folds  so  that  the 
middle  might  be  seen,  and  had  bade  him  wear  it 
in  his  cap,  as  the  Court  gallants  did  wear  the  like 
favours  which  their  ladies  gave  them.  (And 
Grandam  Hathaway,  who  ever  liked  to  know  the 
cost  of  things,  said  '  'Twas  worth  twelvepence, 
and  no  mistake.'  But  his  other  grandam,  when 
that  he  boasted  thereon,  had  rated  him  right 
soundly  for  her  sweet  tongue,  and  had  said  :  '  The 
gift  was  worth  the  love  that  prompted  it  and  not 
the  money  it  had  cost! ') 

On  his  last  birthday  she  had  given  him  a  silver 
ring  with  a  posy  within,  and  on  St.  Valentine's 
day  he  had  caught  her  famously,  standing  with- 
out her  house  long  ere  the  sun  had  risen,  and  when 
she  came  to  her  window  to  see  who  'twas  that 
sang,  before  ever  she  had  a  chance  to  speak  he  had 
called  :  '  Good-morrow,  Valentine.'  At  which, 
recognizing  his  voice,  she  had  dropped  her  silver- 
gilt  pomander  to  him,  bidding  him  wear  it  always 
for  her  sake.  Then  she  had  dressed  quickly,  and 
calling  him  within  doors,  they  had  waited  at  the 
casement  until  the  other  boys,  coming  after  the 
sun  had  risen  with  their  cries  of  '  Good-morrow, 
Valentine,'  met  with  no  reward  but  only  laughter, 
and  were  told  they  were  '  sunburnt '  and  bidden 
hence  in  disgrace. 

Still  he  would  not  have  all  the  giving  on  one 
side,  and  so  he  had  ever  some  little  gift  for  her. 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       131 

At  Christmas-time  there  had  come  a  pair  of  sweet- 
scented  Cheveril  gloves  from  London  town,  paid 
for  out  of  Master  Will  Shakespeare's  purse,  which 
the  little  lad  bestowed  upon  young  Mistress 
Rogers.  Proud  as  he  was  of  that  gift,  he  did  not 
feel  half  so  happy  as  when  he  bought  her  a  taw- 
dry lace  from  the  mad  pedler's  pack  on  May- 
da)7-  with  his  last  pence  (for  gingerbread  nuts  and 
little  gauds  for  all  one's  family  soon  swallow  up  a 
lad's  savings).  In  other  ways,  too,  he  could  show 
his  thought  of  her.  He  never  could  come  empty- 
handed  while  there  were  flowers  in  woods  and 
meadows  waiting  to  be  gathered,  or  berries 
twinkling  in  the  sun.  He  could  plait  a  basket  out 
of  rushes,  or  carve  some  little  thing  with  his  whit- 
tle. And  when  these  were  lacking,  any  story  that 
he  had  read  was  like  a  gift  to  her.  Even  this  day, 
when  he  had  not  expected  to  stop  at  her  new 
home,  though  outwardly  he  bore  no  present,  what 
greater  riches  could  he  share  with  her  than  those 
precious  words  which  rose  and  fell  with  his  heart's 
beating  ?  He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  jerkin,  and 
she,  noting  the  action,  cried  out : 

"  Prithee,  sweet,  show  me  thy  letter  without 
more  ado.  In  truth,  la,  I  love  thy  good  father 
passing  well,  as  who  doth  not  ?  He  hath  ever  a 
kind  word  for  us  all,  both  old  and  young,  and 
what  better  news  could'st  thou  bring  than  that  he 
is  e'en  coming  hither?  I'  faith,  I  shall  want  to 


132        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

see  him  mightily,  though  when  I  hear  o'  the  won- 
drous  plays  he  hath  writ  I  could  find  it  in  my 
mind  to  be  afeared  o'  him,  though  my  heart  doth 
counsel  otherwise." 

"  The  heart's  the  best  guide,  so  saith  my  sweet 
grandam  oft ;  and  sure  methinks  'tis  true  in  this 
case,  for  there  is  naught  to  be  afeard  on  when 
father's  by.  See,  here  is  the  letter." 

He  drew  the  paper  from  his  breast  and  read 
the  superscription  proudly  :  "  To  my  most  loving 
and  dutiful  sweet  son,  Hamnet  Shakespeare ;  " 
then  he  unwound  the  silken  thread  which  bound 
the  packet  and  laid  it  upon  the  cushion  at  his 
side. 

"  'Tis  writ  in  my  father's  own  hand,"  he  said,  as 
he  smoothed  out  the  folds  with  a  caressing  touch, 
"  and  'tis  not  over  easy  reading,  neither,  though 
'twas  no  pother  to  me,  sith  I  know  all  his  quirks 
and  curls — so  I'll  e'en  read  it  out  to  thee.  It 
runneth  in  this  wise  : 

"  '  Alderliefest '  "  (and  that  meaneth  '  dearest  o' 
all ; '  'tis  my  father's  own  heart-name  for  me — 
I'll  tell  thee,  anon,  how  it  came  up ;  but  to  the  let- 
ter) : 

"'ALDERLIEFEST  :  Twill  be  a  short  month,  now,  by  man's 
count,  before  I  see  thee,  but  a  long,  long  month — for  every  day 
is  that — by  mine  own  heart's  reckoning.  When  'tis  done  I  shall 
be  at  home  with  thee  and  the  other  dear  ones  for  a  happy  space. 
Then  will  the  hours  fleet  quickly  with  thee,  my  young  rover,  for 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       133 

thou  dost  ever  make  a  July  day  short  as  December,  and  'twill  be 
sunshine  everywhere,  no  matter  how  the  sky  may  seem  to  other 
eyes. 

" '  Herewith  do  I  enclose  a  bit  of  poesy,  such  as  thou  hast  ever 
begged  of  me.  I  writ  it  the  other  night,  and  thou  and  love  are 
still  my  argument.  My  time  bids  me  to  hasten  to  an  end.  The 
Lord  be  with  thee  and  with  us  all.  Amen. 

" '  From  Southwark,  near  the  Bear  Garden,  the  18  day  of  June, 
1596. 

" '  Thine  in  all  love  and  kindness, 

" '  WILL  SHAKESPEARE.'  " 

The  boy  raised  his  shining  eyes  to  his  com- 
panion's face,  without  speaking,  as  he  finished  the 
letter,  and  she  leaned  forward  and  touched  his 
delicate  cheek  fondly. 

"  Marry,"  she  said,  softly,  "  how  he  doth  love 
thee,  dear  wag.  We  all  do,  as  thou  knowest  full 
well,  but  thou'rt  very  near  his  heart." 

"  As  he  to  mine,"  the  boy  cried  ;  "  thou  canst 
not  guess  how  close.  Nay,  then,  I  can't  abear 
that  others  be  near  him  and  I  away.  If  I  were 
only  big  and  strong!  There's  Ned,  now,  who 
goeth  to  London  shortly.  I  almost  wish  some 
harm  would  befall  him  to  keep  him  still  at 
home " 

"  Peace,  peace  !  What  would  thy  father  say, 
an  he  heard  such  words,  sirrah  ?  " 

"  Verily  he  would  be  sore  grieved,  I  wis,  but 
the  thoughts  choke  me  by  night  and  day,  when  I 
bethink  me  o'  Ned's  dole." 


134        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

"  That's  not  like  my  little  page  o'  all  loves !  I 
would  not  have  thee  grudging  another's  happi- 
ness, sweet,  nor  would  thy  father,  I  trow.  Ned's 
his  brother  and  dear  to  him,  but  an  thou  judgest 
from  thine  own  heart — and  thou  hast  said  the 
heart's  the  truest  guide  —  thy  father's  love  is 
greatest  for  thee.  Truly,  la,  thou'lt  not  be 
greedy  and  want  it  all  for  thyself,  when  others 
hunger  for  a  share." 

Hamnet  hung  his  head  shamefacedly. 

"  Thou  dost  not  understand,"  he  murmured. 

"  No,  faith,  not  I.  An  I  was  so  sure  o'  my 
father's  love  as  thou  art  o'  thine,  I'd  trust  him  to 
the  end." 

"  Why,  so  I  will,"  Hamnet  interrupted,  throw- 
ing his  head  back,  his  small  face  working  with 
determination,  "  so  I  do.  Only  there  be  times 
that  I  wonder  and  wonder  about  the  day  when  I 
shall  truly  be  with  him,  and  I  never  can  make  it 
quite  clear  in  my  mind  ;  often  'tis  one  way,  often 
another,  but  ever  so  distant,  till  that  I  am  out  o' 
heart  with  longing." 

"  Soul  o'  me !  I  never  took  thee  for  a  puling 
lad  before.  Out  upon  thee !  Thy  father  would 
like  thee  to  bear  a  brave  heart,  I  wot — but  there ! 
I'll  rate  thee  no  more.  Thou'lt  mend  thy  ways  ? 
And  so  clap  hands,  and  a  bargain." 

"  Ay,  that  I  will,"  the  boy  cried  ;  "  I'll  do  Ned 
no  ill  turn,  I  promise  thee  —  not  even  in  my 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       135 

thoughts.  But,  now,  I  must  away  to  Aunt  Joan's, 
and  ere  I  go  I  needs  must  tell  thee  the  poesy 
father  writ — I  have  it  already  by  heart.  I  prithee 
touch  thy  lute,  sweet  and  low,  whiles  I  say  it  off." 
He  stood  before  the  girl,  with  his  head  thrown 
back,  his  eyes  looking  into  hers,  and  she,  to  hu- 
mour him,  fell  to  picking  the  strings  of  her  in- 
strument,  but  softly,  too,  so  as  not  to  lose  a  word. 

" '  What's  in  the  brain  that  ink  may  character 
Which  hath  not  figur'd  to  thee  my  true  spirit  ? 
What's  new  to  speak,  what  new  to  register, 
That  may  express  my  love  or  thy  dear  merit  ? 
Nothing,  sweet  boy ;  but  yet,  like  prayers  divine, 
I  must  each  day  say  o'er  the  very  same, 
Counting  no  old  thing  old,  thou  mine,  I  thine, 
Even  as  when  first  I  hallow'd  thy  fair  name. 
So  that  eternal  love  in  love's  fresh  case 
Weighs  not  the  dust  and  injury  of  age, 
Nor  gives  to  necessary  wrinkles  place, 
But  makes  antiquity  for  aye  his  page, 

Finding  the  first  conceit  of  love  there  bred 

Where  time  and  outward  show  would  show  it  dead.'" 

His  fresh,  young  voice  broke  as  he  reached  the 
end,  and  the  next  moment  he  came  close  to  Mis- 
tress Katharine  and  humbly  kissed  her  hand 
where  it  lay  upon  the  lute. 

"  Chide  me  not,"  he  whispered,  tremulously. 
"  I'll  try  to  grudge  Ned  naught ;  when  the  feel- 
ing cometh  upon  me  I'll  say  those  words  over." 


136        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

For  all  answer  the  girl  put  her  arm  about  the 
little  lad  and  pressed  his  face  tenderly  against 
her  own.  So  they  rested  for  a  short  space  in  the 
gracious  quiet  of  the  pretty  room,  while  the  cur- 
tain at  the  window  swelled  softly  in  and  out,  like 
a  small  sail  under  the  command  of  Sir  Breeze, 
and  irregular  patches  of  sunlight  dotted  the  floor 
with  gold. 


And  she,  to  humour  him,  fell  to  -picking  the  strings  of  her 
instrument. 


CHAPTER  IX 

O,  that  a  man  might  know 
The  end  of  this  clay's  business  ere  it  come ! 
But  it  sufficeth  that  the  day  will  end, 

And  then  the  end  is  known. 

JULIUS  CESAR. 

A  noble  nature 

May  catch  a  wrench. 

TIMON  OF  ATHENS. 

HAMNET  lay  face  downward  in  the  lush 
grass,  his  head   resting  on  his  arms,  his 
slender  legs,  in  their  blue,  homespun  hose, 
idly  kicking  the  air.     Silver  was  couched  at  one 
side,  but  well  removed  from  those  heelless  russet 
shoes,  which  described  such  remarkable  revolu- 
tions, having  been  forced,  by  a  wisdom  learned 
from  experience,  to  place  a  considerable  distance 
between  him  and  them. 

There  was  an  open  book  in  front  of  the  lad, 
propped  up  against  a  stone;  but  he  was  not 
reading,  nor  had  not  been  for  a  long  while  past. 
From  all  around  there  came  the  sweet  stir  and 
scent  of  the  Henley  Street  garden,  the  little 
hum  of  the  busy  insects,  the  booming  of  some 
bee-lovers  hovering  around  the  flowers,  and  the 

137 


138        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

gentle  rustle  of  the  baby  breeze  as  it  lisped  its 
half-forgotten  message  to  the  leaves  of  the  elder 
bush  near  at  hand. 

Hamnet  followed  some  gaudy-winged  butter- 
flies with  speculative  eyes,  as  they  darted  across 
the  green,  sunlit  spaces  ;  then  his  glance  fell  upon 
the  open  page  before  him,  and  rested  there  for  a 
brief  time.  How  dull  it  was  !  After  all,  the  true 
place  to  study  lessons  was  within  doors,  away 
from  the  temptations  of  earth  and  sky — some 
place  so  tightly  sealed  that  not  one  of  the  thou- 
sand, happy  summer  sounds  could  penetrate  its 
way  to  its  interior — and  especially  not  those 
shrill  whoops  that  came  ever  and  anon  from  the 
meadows,  where  some  boys  were  playing  at 
prisoners'  base.  It  was  impossible  to  nail 
long  Latin  sentences  into  one's  memory  when 
there  was  so  much  else  of  real  note  to  engross 
the  attention,  and  when  underneath  all — like  the 
undercurrent  in  the  river  —  there  pulsed  the 
thought  that  father  was  coming  home.  Study  ? 
The  thing  was  unheard  of.  The  boy  tossed  the 
book,  with  ruthless  hands,  high  in  the  air,  and 
laughed  to  see  it  fall  ignominiously  into  the  heart 
of  the  elder  bush,  startling  some  young  birds 
from  their  nest.  They  whirred  off  to  a  safe  dis- 
tance, and  upbraided  the  disturber  of  their  peace 
with  feeble,  remonstrant  voices. 

"  I'  faith,  the  Latin  is  no  more  to  their  taste 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       139 

than  'tis  to  mine  own  this  day,"  he  cried,  with  a 
hearty  laugh.  "  I'll  have  none  o'  it — not  I. 
Come,  Silver,  we'll  away." 

He  rolled  over  on  his  side,  and  made  as  if  to 
fondle  the  dog's  ears  with  his  upstretched  hands ; 
but  Silver  was  burrowing  in  the  bush  after  a  new 
species  of  game.  He  turned,  with  the  book  in 
his  mouth,  and  shook  it  again  and  again,  worry- 
ing it  as  if  it  were  some  rat,  until  a  shower  of 
leaves  lay  on  the  grass  about  him,  like  the  petals 
of  a  monstrous  flower. 

"  Out  upon  thee  for  a  pestilential,  destructive 
rogue !  "  a  voice  cried  sharply  from  the  other 
side  of  the  bush.  "  I'll  teach  thee,  thou  fat  good- 
for-naught,  what  all  the  books  couldn't  learn 
thee — I'll  thresh  thee  so  thou'lt  not  soon  forget 
this  day's  schooling." 

Hamnet  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  face — that  had 
taken  on  a  look  of  mingled  dismay  and  fun  at 
the  mischief  Silver  had  wrought — working  with 
anger.  At  any  other  time  he  would  have  called 
out  a  laughing  explanation ;  but  something  in  the 
unseen  speaker's  tones  awakened  all  the  unreason- 
ing furies  in  his  breast.  It  was  like  the  gunner's 
match  to  the  trail  of  powder. 

"  Thou'lt  not  lay  a  finger  on  my  dog,  Ned 
Shakespeare,"  he  called,  defiantly.  "  Thou'lt 
reckon  wi'  me  first." 

"  Ay,   that  I   will,  or   first  or  last,   it   matters 


140        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

not,"  the  voice  replied,  with  an  ironical  laugh  ; 
"  but  I'll  not  stand  by  and  see  property  destroyed 
so  wanton-like  by  that  pampered  beast,  young 
Master  Cockerel,  were  he  thy  dog  or  the  Queen's." 

The  speaker  came  around  the  bush  and  faced 
the  raging  lad.  He  was  a  tall,  fresh-coloured 
youth,  with  something  of  arrogance  in  his  bear- 
ing at  that  moment.  Silver  moved  hastily  out 
of  reach  of  the  strong,  lithe  arms. 

"  Thou'lt  not  touch  my  dog,"  the  boy  repeated  ; 
"  an  thou  dost,  thou'lt  rue  it  to  the  longest  day 
o'  thy  life.  Besides,  he  deserveth  no  punish- 
ment; 'twas  I  that  threw  the  book,  and  so  set 
him  on." 

"  Marry,  I'll  learn  him,  then,  not  to  follow 
thy  behests,"  Edmund  said,  with  flashing  eyes, 
angered  beyond  control  by  his  nephew's  tones. 
He  made  a  lunge  forward,  as  he  spoke,  and 
cuffed  Silver  smartly  on  the  ear. 

"  An  thou  knowest  not  the  worth  o'  books,  it 
shall  be  brought  home  to  thee,"  he  muttered. 

"  Thou'rt  but  a  sorry  hand  to  do  that,"  Hamnet 
sneered,  white  with  rage;  "'tis  not  overmuch 
thou  canst  tell  us  about  the  worth  o'  a  book,  espe- 
cially an  it  be  the  inside." 

"  How !  "  cried  Edmund,  hotly.  "  Art  ready 
wi' thy  jibes?  Dost  dare  outface  me,  thou  little 
braggart  ?  An  thou  wert  near  my  size,  I'd  pound 
thee  into  mince-meat." 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       141 

"  Size  or  no  size,"  Hamnet  flung  back,  "  I'll 
fight  thee.  I'm  not  afeard  o'  thy  brawny  fist, 
Ned  Shakespeare.  An  thou'dst  lift  it  against  a 
poor,  innocent  beast,  thou'rt  no  better  than  a 
swasher,  anyway.  Thou'dst  not  wait  for  one  o* 
thy  inches  to  fight  thee — 'tis  but  an  excuse." 

"  Nay,  then,  I'll  take  no  eggs  for  money,"  Ed- 
mund answered,  with  a  darkening  brow.  "  An 
thou  outmatchest  me  with  thy  learning,  Sir 
Knowall,  and  thy  quick  tongue,  my  hands  shall 
still  do  me  some  service." 

He  advanced  threateningly  upon  the  boy,  but 
Silver,  with  a  low  growl  like  distant  thunder, 
rushed  between  the  unequal  combatants.  The 
hair  on  his  glistening  back  stood  stiffly  erect, 
his  tail  was  straight  from  his  body,  and  his  eyes 
were  like  lightning  in  their  vivid  gleam. 

"  Down,  sir,  down  !  "  Hamnet  cried.  "  'Tis  not 
thy  quarrel.  Thou  art  my  very  own,  and  I'll 
pay  back  with  interest  the  blow  thou  hast  received 
— trust  me  for  that.  Thou  wouldst  not  turn  on 
thy  foe  when  he  did  strike  thee,  for  that  he 
beareth  a  name  we  both  do  love,  though  he  is  all 
unworthy  o'  it;  but  thou'lt  not  see  me  hurt, 
brave  heart,  brave  Silver.  Be  off,  sirrah  !  " 

Ned's  face  flushed. 

"  Nay,  keep  thy  safeguard,  little  one,"  he 
answered,  bitterly.  "  Thou  dost  valiantly  to  taunt 
a  man  when  he's  by.  I'll  fight  thee  not.  I'd 


142        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

fight  thee  not  at  any  time ;  thou'rt  too  low  for 
fighting,  wf  thy  taunts.  Thou'rt  safe ;  but  'tis 
not  for  thy  sake,  thou  little,  puny,  woman-deoked 
thing,  but  for  thy  father,  who  is  dear  to  me." 

"  Bring  not  my  father's  name  into  this  quarrel," 
Hamnet  cried,  beside  himself  with  anger ;  "  and 
get  thee  hence,  Silver — begone,  begone " 

He  stamped  his  foot  furiously  until  his  cham- 
pion, with  his  tail  hanging  dejectedly  between  his 
legs,  had  retreated  to  the  house ;  then  he  turned 
again  on  his  adversary. 

"  So  now  I  have  no  protector  save  only  these," 
he  said,  with  a  long-drawn  breath  as  he  looked 
down  at  his  clinched  fists ;  "  but  thou  shalt  feel 
them,  I  trow." 

He  made  a  rush  forward  as  he  spoke  to  deliver 
the  blow,  but  Ned  caught  the  small  bare  arm  in 
its  flowing  white  sleeve  just  above  the  wrist  and 
held  it  between  his  iron-like  fingers  as  in  a  vise. 
After  a  moment  he  let  it  drop  with  a  short  laugh. 
The  boy  fell  back  only  to  gather  fresh  strength 
before  he  came  whirling  on  again.  Ned  stood 
unmoved  by  the  renewed  attack,  like  some  great 
rock  against  which  the  little  waves  beat  in  vain. 
He  caught  his  assailant  about  the  middle  and  held 
him  at  arm's  length  away  from  the  ground. 

"  I'll  not  fight  wi'  thee,  little  lad,"  he  said, 
contemptuously  ;  "  there's  a  shaking,  sirrah,  for 
thy  saucy  tongue,  and  here's  another  to  mend  thy 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       143 

manners  withal — that's  the  treatment  thou  merit- 
est.  I  am  no  scholard,  i'  faith,  but  I  yet  know 
what's  meet  for  such  as  thee.  And  so  good-day, 
my  young  bull-calf." 

He  relinquished  his  hold,  and  the  boy,  dizzy 
from  the  rough  handling  he  had  received,  reeled  a 
few  steps  and  caught  at  a  tree  to  keep  from  falling, 
while  Ned,  as  though  he  were  not  concerned  in 
the  matter,  turned  on  his  heel  and  strode  away 
whistling  '  Green  Sleeves  '  merrily,  his  handsome, 
careless  face  carried  a  degree  higher  than  was  his 
custom. 

Hamnet  looked  after  him  impotently,  clinching 
and  unclinching  those  useless  fists  of  his.  Every- 
thing was  in  a  whirl  about  him.  He  took  a  step 
forward.  His  ears  were  full  of  that  gay,  rip- 
pling music  that  grew  fainter  with  every  passing 
moment.  It  was  like  a  goad  to  his  soul. 

"  Nay,  then,  I  hate  thee,  Ned  Shakespeare," 
he  cried,  in  a  fury — "  hate  thee,  hate  thee,  and  I'll 
be  even  wi'  thee  for  this  some  day,  if  I  needs 
must  wait  till  the  end  o'  time  or  go  to  Terra 
Florida  to  find  thee." 

He  flung  his  defiance  out  mightily,  and  for 
answer  there  came  back  to  him  the  sweet  lilt  of 
the  tune  from  the  ever-growing  distance — a  mere 
thread  of  a  sound,  like  the  ghost  of  an  echo — and, 
near  at  hand,  the  glad  song  of  a  bird  overhead  in 
the  boughs  of  the  apple-tree  and  the  murmurs  of 


144        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

the  bees  about  the  hollyhocks  a-row  by  the 
garden  wall. 

He  remained  motionless  for  some  minutes,  his 
quivering  face  turned  in  the  direction  whence  that 
gay  music  had  come,  deaf  to  the  other  sounds  about 
him,  and  blind,  too,  to  the  fairness  of  his  surround- 
ings, which  never  before  had  appealed  in  vain  to  his 
loving  eyes.  The  whole  world  seemed  dark  to  him. 
At  last,  with  his  chest  still  heaving  with  passion,  he 
threw  himself  upon  the  ground  near  the  mutilated 
Cato,  which  had  been  the  cause  of  the  outbreak — 
though  only  the  slightest  of  causes,  as  he  knew  full 
well.  Ned's  wrath  at  the  sight  of  the  torn  book 
might  have  been  easily  diverted.  One  little 
word  of  explanation  uttered  in  the  right  tone  and 
the  youth,  who  had  no  love  for  musty  Latin, 
would  have  been  the  last  to  chide  Silver  for  his 
misdemeanor,  but  to  defy,  to  threaten,  when  the 
right  was  so  manifestly  on  the  elder's  side,  made 
the  explanation,  when  it  did  come,  of  slight  mo- 
ment, and  the  later  taunt  nailed  the  injury  fast. 

Deep  in  his  heart  Hamnet  was  conscious  that 
the  real  reason  of  the  quarrel  lay  in  his  own  bitter 
jealousy  of  Ned's  good  fortune,  that  and  nothing 
else,  and  his  face  flamed  scarlet  as  the  remem- 
brance of  the  jibe  he  had  let  fall  flashed  into  his 
mind.  He  moved  restlessly. 

But  surely  what  Ned  had  said  was  unpardonable 
— '  too  low  for  fighting,'  '  little  puny  thing/  and 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad        145 

'woman-decked.'  He  dragged  at  the  embroid- 
ered collar  of  his  shirt  in  sudden  fury.  Why 
need  his  every-day  shirts  be  stitched  with  gay- 
coloured  threads  ?  Not  another  boy  in  school  wore 
such  womanish  gear.  He  hated — hated  it !  Must 
he  be  flouted  for  that  and  for  all  the  foolish  fond- 
nesses those  about  him  chose  to  bestow  ?  He  saw 
everything  through  his  blind,  unreasoning  anger. 
And  '  little  lad  ! '  Of  a  truth,  the  taunting  had  not 
been  all  on  one  side.  Little — little,  forsooth  ?  That 
was  something  he'd  mend  with  the  years — those 
slow,  slow  years. 

He  struggled  into  a  sitting  position  and  rolled 
up  his  shirt-sleeve,  which  was  open  to  the  elbow, 
with  a  swift  motion  ;  then  he  balled  his  fist  quickly* 
bringing  it  up  to  his  chest,  and  looked  down  with 
eager  eyes  at  the  slight  swelling  of  the  muscle 
under  the  smooth  skin  of  his  upper  arm.  He 
pulled  down  the  sleeve  hastily,  with  a  gulping 
sound  in  his  throat.  His  skin  was  as  white  as 
a  girl's,  only  the  forearm  was  respectable  and 
brown,  like  other  boys'.  Little — puny  !  Nay,  Ned 
should  eat  those  words  some  day.  And  what  he 
had  done  to  Silver  was  even  more  unpardonable. 

Hamnet  felt  on  the  moment  something  moist 
and  soft  against  his  cheek.  It  was  like  the  gentle 
touch  of  a  snowflake,  though  they  come  not  in 
the  summer-time.  He  threw  out  his  arm  gladly 
and  drew  Silver  close  to  his  side. 

10 


146        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

'*  Now  Heaven  be  praised,  dear  heart,  thou'rt 
come  again,"  he  murmured  fondly,  caressing  the 
dog  with  tender  hands  the  while ;  "  thou  wouldst 
not  see  me  harmed  ;  thou  wouldst  fight  for  me — 
I  that  am  too  puny,  they  say,  and  too  low  for 
fighting — I  that  cannot  even  serve  thee  with  these 
poor  fists  o'  mine." 

An  angry  rush  of  tears  blinded  his  eyes  to  the 
love  in  the  dumb,  uplifted  gaze. 

"  In  truth  thou  art  my  only  friend,"  he  went  on, 
working  himself  up  into  the  belief  that  all  the 
world  was  set  against  him,  and  taking  a  mournful 
pleasure  in  the  loneliness  of  the  position  which 
he  thus  conjured  for  himself — "  my  only  friend  ; 
and  thou  wouldst  serve  me,  too,  so  that  Ned  would 
jeer  no  longer  at  me.  But  I'll  none  o'  thine  aid  ; 
I'll  fight  him  yet  till  that  he  bites  the  dust." 

A  trifle  mollified  by  these  threats,  Hamnet 
came  back  gradually  to  a  realization  of  his  sur- 
roundings. The  world  was  still  a  dreary  place  to 
him,  though  little  by  little  a  hint  of  its  real  fair- 
ness was  creeping  over  him  and  stilling  those 
thoughts  of  revenge  in  his  breast. 

He  had  ever  been  above  petty  meannesses,  and 
though  his  fists  were  ready  at  any  time  to  serve 
a  friend  or  one  who  was  weak,  he  quarrelled  but 
seldom  on  his  own  account.  For  all  that  he  was 
a  true  boy,  as  full  of  mischief  as  an  egg  is  of  meat 
— one  who  was  willing  to  play  truant  when  the 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       147 

fish  leaped  in  the  stream,  or  there  were  fruits  or 
nuts  to  gather ;  quick,  too,  at  sport  of  any  kind, 
and  ever  foremost  in  the  pranks  at  the  school- 
master's expense.  But  he  had  no  love  for  under- 
hand dealings ;  what  was  fair  and  open  to  the  day 
appealed  most  to  his  taste;  and  yet  the  only  way 
he  might  reach  Edmund  was  by  those  very  means. 
His  face  darkened.  Well,  why  not?  he  argued 
to  himself ;  they  were  surely  fair  if  one  were  the 
smaller.  A  throng  of  suggestions  surged  into  his 
mind.  He  had  only  a  few  days  in  which  to  com- 
pass his  vengeance.  But  at  that  thought  some 
other,  springing  up  in  its  train,  made  the  boy 
suddenly  lower  his  head.  Only  a  few  days!  He 
kicked  at  a  toadstool  impatiently,  and  his  foot 
came  in  contact  with  one  of  the  scattered  pages ; 
the  rustle  was  like  a  little  sigh.  He  sat  up  then 
and  began  to  whistle,  while  Silver,  with  a  joyful 
bark,  sprang  to  his  feet ;  he  had  hardly  recognized 
his  master  in  the  sullen,  brooding  lad. 

"  Thou  art  a  very  mad-cap,"  the  boy  cried, 
"  and  this  is  all  thy  work.  Nay,  I'll  chide  thee 
not,"  he  went  on,  as  he  crawled  on  his  knees  over 
to  the  fallen  book  and  began  to  pick  up  its  torn 
leaves,  at  which  Silver,  undismayed  by  any  seri- 
ous reflections,  frisked  about  in  unrighteous  de- 
light at  the  memory  of  his  deed. 

"  Marry,  'tis  a  small  jest,  to  my  way  o'  think- 
ing," Hamnet  remonstrated,  though  the  light  was 


148        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

coming  back  to  his  eyes,  "  a  sorry  jest.  But  there ! 
mine  is  the  blame,  and  a  stitch  or  two  will  put 
all  right  again.  And  as  for  the  back — why,  'twas 
broke  long  since,  as  mine  will  be  on  the  morrow, 
I  trow." 

He  stopped  in  the  midst  of  the  sentence  to 
laugh  heartily. 

"Nay,  I  could  not  get  my  lesson  memoriter — 
'twas  too  much  to  ask.  On  a  half-holiday,  too  ! 
An  I  had  not  tried,  this  never  would  have 
happed.  I  should  have  been  off  wi'  Tom  and 
Frank,  an  I'd  been  wise." 

He  got  up  a  little  soberly  and  walked  slowly 
to  the  house,  with  Silver  bringing  up  the  rear, 
tail  and  ears  hanging  dejectedly  again  —  their 
owner  quite  unequal  to  the  task  of  comprehend- 
ing his  master's  varying  moods. 

Meanwhile  the  boy  was  hoping  that  he  would 
find  his  grandmother  within ;  the  book  must  be 
mended  before  the  morrow,  and  hers  were  the 
safest  hands  to  have  the  charge  of  it.  He  knew 
how  his  mother  would  cry,  at  first  sight  of  the 
wreck,  that  Silver  was  an  arrant  villain,  and  even 
when  he  told  her  that  he — Hamnet — was  alone 
to  blame,  she  would  still  chide  and  chide  again, 
and  frown  at  Silver,  though  in  the  end  she  would 
sew  the  book  right  fairly.  But  his  grandmother 
would  be  different.  First  she  would  hear  what 
he  had  to  say  from  beginning  to  end  without  a 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad        149 

word  on  her  part,  working  all  the  time  at  her 
task  with  such  brave  stitches ;  then,  when  he  had 
ceased  speaking,  she  would  say  something — oh  ! 
just  something  short,  and  always  with  a  little 
smile.  He  did  not  think  she'd  be  over-angry,  and 
there  would  be  no  sharp  word  for  Silver — that 
he  knew  quite  well ;  he  could  even  imagine  her 
laughing,  though  gravely  too,  for  she  loved  not 
to  see  books  mishandled. 

But  if  he  told  her  one  portion  of  the  story,  how 
could  he  keep  back  the  rest  ?  Those  keen  eyes 
of  hers  had  such  a  way  of  seeing  the  very  heart  of 
things.  Nay,  then,  he  hoped  she  would  not  be 
there ;  he  was  not  minded  to  tell  aught  of  the 
quarrel ;  that  was  between  him  and  Ned,  and 
women  would  not  understand.  There  was  no 
fear  that  Ned  would  say  a  word  concerning  it — 
and  like  as  not  he'd  clean  forgot  it  by  this  time. 
He'd  such  a  sunny  heart  he  seldom  kept  an 
affront  long.  Even  in  his  anger  against  his  uncle 
Hamnet  was  generous  enough  to  admit  that 
much,  though  he  felt  a  bitter  twinge  of  resent- 
ment at  the  idea  that  his  wrath  should  seem  of 
such  slight  moment  to  the  youth. 

The  house-door,  leading  into  the  garden,  was 
set  wide,  but  there  was  no  one  in  the  little  snug- 
gery at  one  side  of  the  small  entry,  nor  in  the 
large  living-room.  Hamnet  peered  in  cautiously 
before  he  entered  with  noiseless  steps.  Every- 


150        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

thing  was  very  quiet,  save  for  the  bird  in  the  wil- 
low cage,  which  chirped  blithely  as  it  turned  its 
little  sharp  eyes  upon  the  new-comers. 

On  the  settle  was  Susanna's  work-basket  with 
a  bit  of  white  cambric,  in  which  her  needle  was 
quilted,  lying  across  the  top.  One  of  the  cush- 
ions had  fallen  upon  the  floor,  thus  disclosing  a 
book,  as  if  Mistress  Sue  had  been  reading  be- 
tween her  stitches.  Hamnet  knew  the  cover  at  a 
glance ;  'twas  the  '  Book  of  Merry  Riddles/  and 
no  doubt  Susanna  was  getting  some  off  by  heart 
against  their  father's  coming.  Push !  as  if  their 
father  had  forgot  the  Book  of  Riddles. 

Not  far  from  the  settle  Mistress  Anne  Shake- 
speare's lute  lay  across  a  chair,  and  a  little  stool 
in  front  of  it  told  the  boy  more  plainly  than  any 
words  could  have  done  that  Judith  had  been 
picking  out  the  music  of  different  songs.  Her 
work  lay  in  a  careless  heap  on  the  ground,  where 
she  had  dropped  it  when  she  had  been  summoned 
away.  He  picked  it  up  half-curiously.  If  the 
needle  were  a  big  one  he  saw  not  why  it  should 
not  serve  him.  Sewing,  marry,  looked  easy 
enough  ;  'twas  just  to  put  in  and  draw  out  again, 
and  he  would  trouble  no  one  to  help  him,  since 
they  all  kept  aloof  from  him  that  day.  The 
needle,  however,  was  not  to  be  found,  and  what 
thread  there  was  was  in  a  sad  snarl.  Judith  had 
been  setting  a  little  vine-like  trimming  about  the 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad        151 

handkercher,  for  such  it  was.  It  was  a  goodly 
sized  napkin,  too,  such  as  a  man  might  carry. 
Hamnet  laid  it  down  with  a  sigh.  'Twas  Jude's 
first  grown-up  work.  But  there  !  'twas  not  for 
him ;  his  handkerchers  were  smaller  ;  like  as  not 
'twas  for  father,  or  for — pshaw  !  what  had  put 
Ned  in  his  thoughts? 

He  went  over  to  Susanna's  work  and  made  as 
if  to  take  out  the  needle,  then  he  half  drew  back 
his  hand  in  the  fear  that  he  might  pull  the  thread 
and  so  mar  all.  What  beauteous  stitches  Sue 
took!  He  did  not  know  the  name  of  a  quarter  of 
them,  but  these  were  fair  enough  to  have  been 
made  with  the  fine  point  of  a  painter's  brush. 
And  blue,  too — he  liked  blue  best.  'Twas  a  brave, 
brave  collar,  and  Sue  was  a  sweet  wench  to  make 
it  for  him.  He  paused  with  it  in  his  grasp ;  then, 
casting  a  wary  glance  around,  he  drew  it  about 
his  throat.  'Twas  world's  too  wide  !  He  pulled 
it  off  quickly,  and  the  needle  pricked  his  finger, 
causing  a  tiny  drop  of  blood  to  stain  the  spotless 
fabric.  He  inspected  it  ruefully  for  a  moment. 
A  brave  collar  surely,  and  not  for  him,  and  too 
gay  for  grandfather.  'Twould  look  passing  well 
on  father — or — or — Ned.  Hamnet  dropped  the 
work  in  a  fury ;  he  had  Ned  on  the  brain  that 
day. 

It  was  very  still  all  about  him,  but  from  the 
floor  above  there  came  the  occasional  sounds  of 


152        Will  Shakespeare s  Little  Lad 

footsteps,  and  someone  was  singing  fitful  snatches 
of  song.  Hamnet  walked  over  to  the  narrow 
flight  of  stairs  and  went  up  a  few  steps,  pausing 
then  to  listen.  It  was  Judith's  voice  half-chant- 
ing a  verse  of  '  Constant  Susanna  ' : 

"  '  There  dwelt  a  man  in  Babylon, 

Of  reputation  great  by  fa-ame, 
He  took  to  wife  a  fair  woman, 

Susanna  she  was  called  by  na-ame.' " 

The  girl  broke  off  suddenly  and  was  silent  for 
a  few  moments,  then  she  resumed  the  song  as  if 
there  had  been  no  interruption  : 

"  '  A  woman  fair  and  virtuous, 

La-dy — la-dy — 

Why  should  we  not  of  her  learn  thus 
To  live  god-ly  ?  '  " 

"  Jude,"  Hamnet  called,  as  she  finished  with  a 
laugh — "  Jude,  what  dost  thou  ?  " 

"  I  be  up  to  my  eyes  in  work,  sweet  ape." 

"  I  prithee  come  hither,  I've  summat  to  ask  o' 
thee." 

There  was  a  rush  of  flying  steps,  and  the  next 
instant  Judith's  rosy,  laughing  face  appeared  at 
the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"  I  may  not  go  to  Shottery,"  she  cried,  breath- 
lessly, "  I  may  not  out  o'  doors,  I  may  not  e'en 
budge  from  here.  Sue  and  me  are  unpicking  o' 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       153 

Ned's  murrey  coloured  doublet  to  have  it  ready 
against  his  going.  Go  away.  Buz ! " 

Hamnet's  face  clouded,  but  he  stood  his  ground. 

"  Where's  my  mother?"  he  demanded. 

"  She  hath  gone  to  Mistress  Sadler's  for  the 
rest  o'  the  day,  and  she  hath  ta'en  her  stitchery 
wi'  her.  My  godmother  will  show  her  a  new 
stitch  for  Ned's  shirt.  Verily,  my  grandam  saith 
we'll  make  him  as  fine  as  any  Sir  in  London  town  ; 
they  shall  not  think  to  flout  a  Stratford  lad  for 
country  fashions." 

"  Nay,  Judith,  come  back  to  thy  work,"  Susan- 
na cried,  impatiently ;  "  'tis  little  enow  thou  hast 
done,  what  wi'  thy  hoppings  about  and  thy  songs. 
Leave  Hamnet  be,  unless  he's  minded  to  help  us 
unpick  this  ;  he  must  not  bring  us  out." 

Minded  to  unpick  Ned's  doublet !  Hamnet  put 
up  his  hand  to  his  throat  as  if  he  were  choking. 
What !  make  a  girl  of  him  at  once  and  be  done 
with  it.  The  whole  house  seemed  to  go  up  and 
down  before  his  eyes.  Ned's  doublet — Ned's 
shirt — that  collar  and  handkercher  in  the  other 
room  were  Ned's  too — and  what  else  ? 

"  Where's  gran?  "  he  called,  in  a  voice  shaking 
with  rage. 

"  In  the  buttery,  methinks,"  Susanna  replied, 
calmly,  "  an  she  be  not  already  gone  to  Aunt 
Joan's.  She'd  some  ruffs  o*  Ned's  to  set  and 
colour  wi'  starch  before  she  went.  Seek  her  there. 


154        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

But  what  hath  come  to  thee,  sweet  boy  ?  Thy 
voice  soundeth  as  if  thou  hadst  a  quack,  or  else 
thy  mouth  were  full  o'  summat.  Hast  been  in 
the  store-room,  sirrah  ?  " 

Hamnet  did  not  wait  to  answer,  but  rushed 
headlong  from  the  house,  through  the  quiet 
garden,  sleeping  in  the  afternoon  sunlight,  out  into 
Henley  Street  and  away — he  cared  not  whither. 
Nor  did  he  notice  that  his  trusty  Silver  loped  as 
usual  at  his  side.  There  seemed  to  be  a  thousand 
demons  within  him,  lashing  him  with  unseen 
whips  on  and  on,  their  voices  rising  in  a  whirl  of 
discord — a  deafening  tumult  that  filled  his  ears 
until  they  were  on  the  verge  of  bursting.  And 
'  Ned — Ned — Ned — '  they  cried.  Turn  where 
he  would  there  was  naught  to  be  heard  but  that 
hateful  sound. 


CHAPTER  X 

The  time  of  life  is  short ! 
To  spend  that  shortness  basely  were  too  long, 
If  life  did  ride  upon  a  dial's  point, 
Still  ending  at  the  arrival  of  an  hour. 

HENRY  IV.    (Part  I.) 

But,  0,  how  bitter  a  thing  it  is  to  look  into  happiness  through 
another  man's  eyes ! 

As  You  LIKE  IT. 

HAMNET  sped  along  the  Warwick  road, 
soul-sick  and  tempest-tossed,  a  prey  to  his 
evil  passions.  He  had  been  governed  by 
no  particular  desire  in  making  his  selection — one 
road  was  as  good  as  another  to  his  thinking  that 
day.  He  had  but  stumbled  into  this  by  the 
merest  accident,  though  it  was  ever  a  favourite 
with  him.  He  kept  on  doggedly  with  downcast 
eyes  until,  tired  and  panting,  he  halted  at  last  for 
breath,  and,  like  a  person  waking  from  a  heavy 
slumber,  glanced  wonderingly  around. 

He  was  about  a  mile  from  the  town,  and  there 
on  his  left  were  the  Welcombe  Woods.  Just  be- 
yond them  the  Dingles — a  belt  of  straggling  ash 
and  hawthorn,  which  went  winding  irregularly 

155 


156        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

through  briery  hollows  and  depths  of  vivid  green 
where,  earlier  in  the  year,  the  blue-bells  swung 
their  tiny  chimes  —  climbed  from  the  footway 
below  to  the  summit  above,  while  immediately 
around  rose  the  Welcombe  Hills,  from  whose 
heights  his  father  loved  to  look  down  upon  the 
peaceful  valley.  The  thought  was  like  a  cool 
hand  laid  on  the  boy's  fevered  brow,  and  for  the 
moment  those  hideous  voices  were  quiet  in  his 
breast.  He  pushed  on  over  the  familiar  ground, 
thinking  of  the  last  time  he  had  travelled  it  in  his 
father's  company,  and  recalling  every  detail  with 
such  loving  exactitude  that  when  he  reached  the 
crest  of  the  hill  it  almost  seemed  as  if  that  be- 
loved presence  were  by  his  side  in  very  truth. 

He  paused  and  looked  back  at  the  tranquil 
scene,  at  the  orange  and  gold  of  the  maturing 
fields,  and  the  rich,  deep  greens  of  the  bosky 
acres  with  their  broom  groves  and  hazel  copses. 
Before  him,  right  in  the  track  of  the  homing  sun, 
Stratford  lay  among  her  orchards  and  gardens, 
the  thatched  roofs  of  her  cottages  showing  plain- 
ly, with  here  and  there  an  occasional  roof  of  tiles, 
to  mark  the  habitations  of  the  less  conservative 
owners.  Above  them  all  the  square  tower  of  the 
Guild  chapel  stood  sturdily  aloft,  and  farther 
along  the  wooden  spire  of  Trinity  pierced  the 
cloudless  sky  with  its  slender  point.  And  that 
thread  of  molten  light  quivering  now  in  this  spot, 


Will  Shakespeare s  Little  Lad       157 

now  in  that,  was  the  Avon  bearing  its  waters  to 
the  sea.  Beyond  the  sweeping  curves  of  the 
river  lay  the  undulating  valley  of  the  Red  Horse, 
shut  in  by  the  misty  Cotswold  Hills. 

The  little  lad  drew  in  a  deep  breath  of  satisfac- 
tion at  sight  of  so  much  loveliness,  and  some  of 
the  peace  and  quietness  about  him  crept  into 
his  troubled  breast.  After  a  few  minutes  he 
threw  himself  down  upon  the  ground,  and  Silver, 
who  all  this  while  had  kept  discreetly  in  the  back- 
ground, came  wriggling  forward.  Hamnet  opened 
his  arms  wide,  and  the  dog,  with  a  joyful  bark, 
crept  close,  nestling  his  head  against  the  breast  of 
his  master's  sleeveless  jerkin. 

"  How  fair  it  is,"  the  boy  whispered  dreamily 
into  the  attentive  ears,  forgetful  at  that  moment 
of  what  had  driven  him  hither.  "  My  father  doth 
well  to  love  this  place.  He  saith  there  is  no  fairer 
in  all  the  world  to  him." 

He  broke  off  with  a  sound  in  his  throat  that 
was  half  way  between  a  sigh  and  a  sob,  and  the 
old,  bitter  feelings  surged  afresh  through  his  soul, 
sweeping  away  all  the  beauty  of  the  summer  land, 
as  a  current,  breaking  its  bounds,  submerges 
everything  in  its  headlong  course. 

No  fairer  in  the  world?  Why,  London  was 
that,  for  any  spot  would  be  fairer  if  father  were 
only  by.  The  boy's  heart  was  full  of  contradic- 
torjT  emotions.  One  moment  he  longed  with  all 


158        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

the  ardour  of  his  nature  for  his  father's  home- 
coming, the  next,  with  a  singular  inconsistency,  he 
wished  as  strenuously  that  that  coming  should  be 
deferred.  What  did  it  mean?  What  did  those 
three  days  hold  that  he  was  willing  to  let  them 
go  ?  The  happiness  of  seeing  his  father  again,  of 
hearing  the  deep,  gentle  voice,  of  meeting  the 
smile  in  the  tender  eyes,  of  being  with  him  con- 
stantly— was  he  content  to  relinquish  all  that 
wealth  of  joy  because  of  the  parting  on  the  dark 
morning  of  the  fourth  day  ?  What  did  that 
fourth  day  mean,  that  he  could  let  the  pain  of  it 
rob  him  of  the  delight  of  the  other  days  ?  Was 
it  only  the  dread  of  farewell  that  made  him 
shiver,  or  was  it  that  picture — that  hateful  pict- 
ure—  of  Ned's  happy  face  turned  Londonward 
that  blackened  everything? 

'Twas  too  much  to  bear !  The  humiliation  of 
being  young,  of  being  little,  while  his  heart  was 
as  big  as  any  man's  with  longing,  hurt  the  child 
like  the  sting  of  a  lash.  And  Ned  ? — Ned  only 
five  years  his  senior,  riding  off  into  that  enchanted 
land  by  father's  side.  He  gritted  his  teeth  to- 
gether and  clinched  his  small  fists  at  the  mere 
thought.  How  could  he  stand  by  the  road  and 
wave  good-by  to  that  dear  figure  turning  ever 
and  anon  in  his  saddle  for  a  last  look,  while  Ned 
turned,  too,  with  glad  shouts? 

What  pleasures   that  journey  held!     He  had 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       159 

travelled  it  in  his  fancy  times  beyond  number- 
ing. It  almost  seemed  as  if  he  knew  every  inch 
of  the  way  and  just  how  the  land  looked  on 
either  hand,  for  nothing  had  ever  been  too  small 
for  the  father  to  note  or  to  tell  again  and 
again  to  the  attentive  ears  of  the  child.  Now 
they  had  left  Shipston  behind  and  had  crossed  the 
Combe,  where  Long  Compton  straggled  on  both 
sides,  and  they  had  had  a  goodly  glimpse  of  The 
Whispering  Knights,  clustered  in  a  circle  about 
their  king,  standing  in  stony  silence  under  the 
spell  of  an  enchantment  centuries  old.  After 
which  loitering,  forward  to  Chipping  Norton  ! — 
there  to  halt  for  the  night.  Off  the  next  day, 
riding  through  Enstone,  Over-Kiddington,  and 
Ditchley,  past  the  walls  of  Woodstock  Park, 
through  Woodstock  itself,  and  so  by  Bigbroke 
and  Wolvercold  into  Oxford,  to  The  Crown,  in 
the  Cornmarket,  where  they  would  lie  the  night. 
Away  again  in  the  early  dawning,  just  as 
Charles's  wain  was  fading  from  the  sky  on  the 
third  day's  journey,  travelling  long  miles  over 
bad  roads — through  Whatleie,  Thetisford,  Stock- 
ingchurch,  to  East  Wycombe,  where  they  would 
halt  again  for  a  night's  refreshment.  A  start  be- 
times the  next  morning  would  bring  them  to  Ux- 
bridge  in  the  forenoon,  and  then  there  was  a  longish 
ride  to  London,  which  they  would  reach  in  the  soft 
evening  glow  of  the  fourth  day,  travelling  through 


160       Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

the  fields  to  the  water-side,  where,  having  left 
their  horses  at  some  inn,  they  would  take  boat 
for  Southwark. 

The  colour  deepened  in  the  boy's  cheeks,  and  he 
forgot  that  he  was  there  on  Welcombe  Hill,  with 
Stratford  lying  before  him,  so  real  did  the  imag- 
inary journey  seem.  And  in  a  little  while  now 
'twould  be  Ned's  dole  to  see  all  those  wondrous 
sights,  hear  all  those  wondrous  sounds. 

At  Southwark  with  father!  Going  with  him, 
mayhap,  at  an  early  day  to  the  old  church  whose 
walls  were  washed  by  the  running  river,  and 
where,  in  ancient  times,  the  fisherman's  daughter 
used  to  row  the  folk  over  the  ferry.  'Twould 
be  like  father  to  take  Ned  there  and  show  him  old 
Gower's  monument,  with  the  marvellous  coloured 
figure  lying  on  the  tomb,  and  they  would  read 
the  inscription  together:  'Pour  ta  pitie  Jesu 
regarde — '  Nay,  then,  he  could  not  remember 
the  rest  of  it,  but  that  much  was  right  he  knew. 
And  Ned  would  go  to  '  The  Bear  Garden '  to  see 
the  sport  there,  and  to  '  The  Curtain,'  and,  better 
still,  to  '  Blackfriars,'  and  he  would  sup  at  the 
Tabard,  or  the  Falcon,  or  some  other  ordinary. 
Marry,  'twould  take  more  fingers  than  he  had  a 
hundred  times  over  to  count  all  those  wonderful 
places  that  would  be  calling  to  the  country 
youth:  'Come,  see  me!  come,  see  me!'  when- 
ever he  took  his  walks  abroad. 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       161 

Hamnet  groaned  aloud.  Nay,  he  cared  not  so 
much  that  Ned  should  see  those  things,  and  that 
was  true,  i'  faith.  Ned  was  welcome  to  them  ;  he 
was  welcome  to  all  the  sights  in  Christendom. 
What  hurt  the  loving,  jealous  heart  was  that  Ned 
should  be  admitted  into  a  companionship  from 
which  he  was  debarred.  The  promise  the  little 
lad  had  made  to  young  Mistress  Rogers  was  for- 
gotten, swept  from  his  mind  as  completely  as  the 
December  winds  clear  the  boughs  of  any  cling- 
ing leaves.  Not  one  word  of  his  father's  poesy, 
which  he  was  to  use  as  a  charm  to  expel  his  bit- 
ter, grudging  thoughts,  came  to  him  now.  He 
rolled  over  and  hid  his  face  on  Silver's  firm  side, 
and  then,  because  he  was  only  a  little  fellow  after 
all,  he  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  a  torrent  of 
deep,  tearing  sobs. 

Silver  tried  in  vain  to  touch  with  his  tongue 
the  bit  of  cheek  left  exposed,  but  no  lovingest 
demonstration  of  sympathy  that  day  could  have 
penetrated  through  those  evil  passions  that  were 
piling  themselves  up  into  a  mighty  wall  in  the 
small  heart.  Jealousy,  hatred,  revenge — how  fast 
they  were  building,  until  it  almost  seemed  as  if 
all  that  had  made  his  world  so  fair  would  be  lost 
sight  of  forever  !  Only  one  thought  in  the  midst 
of  that  enveloping  darkness  was  clear  to  the  lad's 
mind — the  way  to  make  Ned  suffer ! 

He'd  listen  to  no  plea  for  forgiveness.  What ! 
ii 


1 62        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

should  he  be  outdone  by  a  dog  ?  Silver,  who  had 
meekly  suffered  punishment  for  his  own  fault, 
had  shown  his  teeth  and  had  been  ready  in  defence 
when  his  master  was  threatened.  Should  the 
master  do  less  ?  He  was  not  fighting  for  his  own 
injuries  now,  but  for  his  friend's  sake.  Only — 
only — wicked  and  savage  as  the  small  heart  was, 
the  truth  would  out  that  in  taking  up  the  dog's 
cause  he  was  secretly  gratifying  the  grudge 
which  had  ever  been  as  a  thorn  in  his  side.  The 
idea  of  revenge  was  as  sweet  to  his  mind  as  the 
taste  of  any  cates  to  his  palate. 

After  a  little,  the  whirlwind  of  passion  subsided 
somewhat,  the  tears  which  had  made  his  cheeks 
burn  with  the  sense  of  his  utter  childishness  van- 
ished, and  he  lay  quite  still  looking  up  at  the  seg- 
ment of  sky  which  was  revealed  through  the 
leafy  branches  overhead,  a  multitude  of  plans 
crowding  in  upon  him.  At  last,  utterly  wearied 
and  sore  dismayed  by  his  thick-coming  fancies, 
he  nestled  closer  against  Silver  and  fell  asleep. 

But  even  in  his  slumbers  he  found  no  relief 
from  his  evil  thoughts  ;  the  idea  of  punishing  Ned 
pursued  him  incessantly.  It  sang  itself  again  and 
again,  like  some  curious  lullaby.  Now,  with  a 
burst  of  wild  music  like  the  clash  of  arms,  he 
found  himself  on  a  vast  heath  accoutred  in  Sir 
Guy's  famous  armour,  and  up  and  down  he  strode 
calling  upon  his  enemy  to  meet  him  in  single 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       163 

combat.  And  suddenly  Ned,  in  his  simple  coun- 
try dress,  with  no  mightier  weapons  than  his  fists, 
faced  him  dauntlessly.  And  there  was  no  fear  in 
his  eyes,  but  just  a  soft  glance  that  made  them 
like  a  certain  pair  of  eyes  the  boy  knew  and 
loved  best  in  all  the  world,  and  the  great  sword 
trembled  in  the  upraised  hand  and  turned  to  a 
wisp  of  straw — powerless,  powerless. 

The  lullaby  went  on.  There  was  the  faint 
swish-swish  of  the  river  amongst  the  grasses,  and 
he  was  flying  by  in  a  boat  which  had  wings  and 
skimmed  along  the  water  like  some  great  bird,  so 
that  it  needed  not  his  guidance.  He  sat  idly  in 
the  stern  and  watched  the  familiar  banks  now 
closing  toward  each  other  as  if  to  whisper  some 
secret,  now  retreating  and  leaving  a  wide  space 
between,  like  friends  estranged.  Here  the  water 
danced  and  sparkled  in  the  sunlight,  there  it  lay 
unruffled  in  the  shade  of  the  willows  that  bent 
low  above  its  glassy  surface  to  catch  a  peep  at 
their  hoar  leaves.  Then  out  he  passed  into  the 
wide  reaches  again,  with  only  sky  above  and 
something  dark  on  the  wind-rippled  waves — Ned, 
in  mid-stream,  clinging  with  desperate  hands  to 
a  plank  to  keep  from  sinking.  On  and  on  the 
boat  flew,  and  now  Ned  had  caught  at  its  side, 
and  his  face  was  aglow  with  the  hope  of  deliver- 
ance come  at  last.  But  the  occupant  of  the  boat 
bent  forward  and  sought  to  detach  those  straining 


164        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

fingers  ;  he  raised  his  oar  to  beat  them  back ;  and 
then  Ned's  voice  cried  :  '  Little  lad  ! '  not  taunt- 
ingly, but  tenderly,  like  unto  another  voice  ;  and 
the  oar  was  flung  aside,  and  the  great  bird  of  a 
boat  bore  two  passengers  safely  home. 

Over  and  over  again,  through  that  troubled 
sleep,  the  same  thoughts  wove  themselves  in  an 
unending  chain — encounters  with  Ned  in  all  the 
unlikeliest  places  of  the  earth,  encounters  where 
the  dreamer  was  ever  on  the  point  of  winning 
and  in  the  end  Ned  won.  But  at  last  the  lullaby 
slipped  into  sweeter  strains.  The  rhythmic  beat 
of  a  horse's  hoofs  coming  along  the  London  road, 
coming  ever  nearer!  A  cloud  of  dust  whirled 
like  powdered  gold  in  the  sunlight,  and  out  of  its 
midst  there  dashed  the  bravest  figure  the  watch- 
er had  ever  seen.  He  ran  forward,  and  now  he 
was  at  the  side  of  the  horse,  and  now — now,  the 
figure  bending  low,  caught  at  his  hand  and  drew 
him  up.  Ned !  Could  he  think  of  Ned  at  such  a 
time  ?  With  his  father's  arms  about  him  and  his 
father's  cheek  on  his,  could  he  think  of  Ned — hate 
Ned? 

Revenge  and  jealousy,  which,  even  in  his 
dreaming,  had  held  him  as  their  slave,  sped  away 
as  the  mists  of  the  morning  fall  back  before  the 
freshness  of  wind  and  sun.  The  little  lad  stirred 
with  a  glad  cry,  half-awake  ;  then,  reluctant  to 
come  back  to  this  working-day  world,  he  settled 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       165 

himself  more  comfortably,  seeking  to  steep  his 
drowsy  senses  again  in  the  exquisite  bliss  of  his 
latest  dream.  The  quietness  of  his  surroundings 
and  the  peace  in  his  heart  soothed  him  almost 
immediately  into  a  deep,  restful  sleep. 

When  he  woke,  an  hour  later,  the  sun  had 
slipped  away  from  the  fields,  and  the  shadows,  that 
all  through  the  afternoon  had  grown  long  and 
longer  across  the  land,  had  merged  into  one  great 
shadow.  The  air,  as  the  day  declined,  had 
turned  chilly,  and  from  somewhere  on  the  hill- 
side a  bird  lifted  its  shrill  note ;  otherwise,  it 
was  very  still.  Hamnet  sat  up  and  rubbed  his 
eyes,  half-bewildered  as  he  gazed  about  him  ; 
then  gradually  he  recognized  the  familiar  place. 
Of  course  'twas  Welcombe  Hill,  and  he  had  been 
asleep,  and  on  a  holiday,  too.  But  why  ?  He 
started  nervously,  memory  touching  him  at  every 
point.  There  was  no  need  to  ask  the  question  a 
second  time.  Silver  stretched  himself  with  a 
noisy  yawn  and  moved  joyously  about  his  mas- 
ter, who  had  fallen  into  a  dejected  mood  again  ; 
suddenly  he  paused  in  his  friskings,  and  uttered 
a  growl  at  the  sight  of  two  figures  in  the  near 
distance.  The  boy  turned  his  head  at  the  repe- 
tition of  the  angry  sound. 

"  What  ails  thee,  true  heart  ?  "  he  demanded. 
"  Marry,  cannot  a  body  pass  on  this  hill  without 
thy  leave  ?  Who  is  it,  sir  ?  Nay,  I  see  as  well 


1 66        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

as  thou  dost,  and  I  cry  thee  pardon.  'Tis  Die- 
con  Hobday  and  his  sworn  brother  Wat  Caw- 
drey  ;  and  thou  lovest  them  not,  I  trow,  nor  do 
I  neither.  We'll  not  go  home  in  their  company, 
so  get  thee  into  yon  bushes,  and  lie  close.  They 
have  not  spied  us  yet." 

Ham  net  crawled  into  the  underbrush  as  he 
spoke,  his  hand  on  the  rude  leather  strap  which 
served  for  Silver's  collar,  and  boy  and  dog 
crouched  down  behind  the  leafy  screen. 

They  had  not  been  concealed  for  more  than  a 
minute  or  so  before  the  two  youths  appeared. 
They  were  hardy,  country  striplings — the  eldest, 
a  thickset,  muscular  fellow,  with  a  black-browed, 
scowling  visage,  and  a  trick  of  hanging  his  head 
as  if  the  thoughts  he  carried  in  his  noddle  were 
unworthy  for  him  to  lift  it  to  the  gaze  of  honest 
men.  His  face,  which  was  never  comely  at  the 
best  of  times,  was  disfigured  by  a  recent  cut  reach- 
ing the  length  of  one  cheek.  He  limped  a  good 
deal  as  he  walked. 

"  Beshrew  me,  I'll  go  no  furder,"  he  cried,  com- 
ing to  a  standstill  so  near  Silver  that  Hamnet 
had  to  put  a  hasty  hand  over  his  mouth  to  keep 
him  from  snapping  at  the  gray  hose  within  such 
tempting  reach.  "  Perdition  snatch  that  villain, 
say  I !  He  hath  lamed  me  past  cure  ;  but  I'll 
make  him  limp  yet,  or  my  name's  na  Diccon  Hob- 
day. I'll  spoil  his  pretty  steps  so  that  my  Lord 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       167 

Hunsdown  i'  London  town  will  have  small  use 
for  such  a  stumbling  lout  in  's  company." 

"  And  I'll  help  thee,  as  sure  as  day,"  put  in  his 
friend,  eagerly.  "  He  broke  my  pate  Rogation 
week,  and  he's  in  my  books  for  more  besides  ;  he 
said  I  cheated  at  shovel-board,  and  set  the  rest 
against  me." 

"  A  pest  upon  him,"  the  other  interrupted.  "  He 
talks  so  big  about  London,  and  swells  like  any 
farmyard  cock  wi'  pride  o'  Brother  Will.  Let 
Brother  Will  take  him  and  keep  him.  I'd  na 
weep  my  eyes  out  an  he  never  cometh  back  to 
Stratford." 

There  was  a  faint  rustle  in  the  bushes,  as  though 
the  breeze  was  setting  the  leaves  there  in  motion. 

"  As  if,  forsooth,  no  other  body  here  around 
can  sing  a  song  or  dance  a  dance  but  just  Ned 
Shakespeare,"  Diccon  went  on,  sneeringly  ;  "  and 
he  will  have  it  he'll  play  sometime  before  the 
Queen.  Go  to !  I'll  lay  a  saxpence  to  nothing  he 
never  makes  a  leg  before  her." 

"  Ay,  but  he  says  he  will,  and  for  aught  we 
know  he'll  mend  up  old  plays  like  's  brother  and 
set  'em  fair.  He  saith  he  is  to  help  him  in  all  that 
he  doeth.  Marry,  Ned  thinketh  he's  o'  such  im- 
port that  Brother  Will  must  needs  come  riding 
home  top-speed  to  fetch  him  back  to  London." 

"  Then  I'll  stay  his  going,"  Diccon  thundered. 
"  I'll  stay  him  wi'  these  two  hands  an  I  have  to 


1 68        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

budge  the  whole  earth  to  do  it.  What !  shall 
we  see  him  go  riding  off  by  's  brother's  side  as 
though  he  owned  the  world  ?  Nay,  an  thou'lt 
na  help  me  I'll  find  those  that  will.  I've  a  plan 
here  that  will  set  Ned  Shakespeare  where  he 
ought  to  be." 

"I'll  help  thee,"  a  shrill  voice  behind  them 
cried — "  I'll  help  thee.  Back,  Silver,  lie  down, 
sirrah ! " 


CHAPTER  XI 

How  should  I  be  revenged  ?   If  this  be  true — 
As  I  have  such  a  heart  that  both  my  ears 
Must  not  in  haste  abuse — if  it  be  true, 
How  should  I  be  revenged  ? 

CYMBELINE. 

Let's  further  think  of  this ; 
Weigh  what  convenience  both  of  time  and  means 
May  fit  us  to  our  shape. 

HAMLET. 

BOTH   youths  started  apart  as  though  the 
earth  had  opened  at  their  feet,  and  whirled 
around  only  to  see  a  slender  little  fellow 
with  flushed  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes  bending 
eagerly  forward,  holding  a  great  hound  in  check. 
Diccon's  face  darkened  as  he  took  a  step  in  the 
child's  direction,  his  fist  raised  in  menace. 

"  Out  upon  thee,  thou  lily-livered  patch,"  he 
cried.  "  I'll  teach  thee  to  listen  to  thy  betters  and 
hear  what's  na  meant  for  thine  ears  and  then  go 
blab.  I'll  pound  thee  into  dust  an  thou  so  much 
as  breathest  a  word  o'  what  we've  said." 
"  Nay,  I  be  no  tale-bearer,"  Hamnet  answered, 

hotly,  drawing  himself  up  to  his  greatest  height, 

169 


170        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

"and  so  let  me  pass.  Thou  need'st  not  be  afeard 
I'll  speak  o'  what  I  heard.  I  did  but  offer  thee 
my  service,  and  that  in  right  good  earnest,  i'  faith  ; 
but  an  thou'lt  have  none  o'  it,  go  thine  own  ways 
and  let  me  e'en  go  mine." 

"  Thou'lt  na  stir  an  inch  until  it  is  my  will," 
Diccon  blustered,  the  scowl  deepening  between 
his  heavy  brows.  "  You  Shakespeares  be  fine  folks, 
forsooth — the  one  a  braggart,  the  other  a  listener 
and  a  tattler." 

"  I  be  neither  o'  those  names,"  the  little  lad 
cried,  with  a  choking  voice ;  "  I'd  not  stoop  to 
neither.  'Twas  true  I  was  in  yon  bushes.  I  hid 
me  there  when  I  did  see  thee  coming,  because  I 
thought  thou'dst  pass  right  on  and  I'd  tarry  till 
after  thy  going." 

"  Ho-ho,"  Diccon  sneered  ;  "  belike  we're  na 
fine  enow  company  for  one  whose  father's  a  play- 
actor i'  London  town  and  whose  uncle  will  e'en 
be  one." 

"  Speak  naught  o'  my  father,  else  thou  shalt 
have  a  taste  o'  Silver's  teeth  to  match  the  beauty 
spot  thou  already  hast." 

"  Dost  threaten  me  wi'  thy  cur?  Beshrew  thee, 
I'll  shoot  him  where  he  standeth  wi'  my  stone 
bow." 

"  Nay,  nay,  peace,  I  pray  thee,"  Wat  Cawdrey 
interposed  ;  "  the  lad  spoke  us  fair  enow,  Diecon, 
and  was  ready  wi'  's  help.  Thou'lt  mar  all  wi'  thy 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad        171 

black  humours,  and  the  quarrel  is  only  wi'  Ned 
Shakespeare  anyway." 

"  Why  true — true,"  Diccon  stammered,  back- 
ing down  from  his  high  horse,  the  more  because 
he  feared  the  fierce  gleam  in  Silver's  unwavering 
eyes ;  "  I  meant  nowt  by  my  words,  lad.  I  be 
willing  enow  to  speak  thee  softly  and  to  take 
thine  aid  too  as  'twas  offered.  Thou  wert  na  coz- 
ening us?" 

"Marry,"  Hamnet  returned,  standing  his  ground 
firmly,  "  I  meant  it  in  very  truth.  I've  a  quarrel 
wi'  Ned  too.  He — nay,  'tis  betwixt  us  two,  but  'tis 
a  just  quarrel.  Only  I  cannot  fight  him  because 
I  be  not  his  size  and  he'll  have  naught  to  do  wi' 
me.  And  I  cannot  wait  till  I'm  a  man  ;  'tis  so  long 
till  then — so  very  long."  His  voice  broke  a  little 
and  he  paused  to  steady  it. 

"  But  I'll  not  let  him  go  hence  still  flouting 
me,"  he  continued,  with  a  dash  of  spirit.  "  An 
thou'lt  not  put  me  on  the  track  o'  getting  the  bet- 
ter o'  him,  I'll  e'en  work  out  a  way  in  my  own 
mind." 

"  Why,  that's  my  bully-rook  !  "  Diccon  cried, 
slapping  the  boy  on  the  shoulder ;  "and  I'll  find 
thee  an  hundred  ways  to  get  even  wi'  thine  uncle 
— or  one  will  serve.  And  thou  need'st  na  give  the 
wherefore  o'  thy  quarrel ;  keep  thine  own  coun- 
sel. Marry,  I  wot  thou  hast  just  reason  for  na 
loving  him." 


172        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

"  Ay,  that  I  have !  An  thou  knew'st  it  thou'dst 
say  so  too,  as  any  would  ;  but  at  home,  i'  faith, 
they're  all  for  Ned  and  his  going  to  London  town 
wi*  father." 

A  shrewd  gleam  passed  over  the  lowering, 
watchful  face,  which  only  intensified  its  ugly  char- 
acter, as  the  sun  in  its  course  lights  some  loath- 
some spot,  and  even  as  it  brightens  it  shows  but 
the  more  plainly  its  abominations.  Diccon  Hob- 
day was  no  fool.  In  a  trice  he  had  read  the  secret 
of  the  transparent  little  heart  before  him.  Let  the 
boy  keep  the  cause  of  his  quarrel  said  or  unsaid ; 
it  mattered  not — here  was  the  right  string  to  play 
upon  !  He  glanced  over  at  Wat  Cawdrey  with  a 
quick  wink  of  his  small  black  eye. 

"  A  just  reason,"  he  said,  thoughtfully,  "  a  very 
just  one.  I  doubt  na  that.  I'll  na  seek  it  out,  but 
I  tell  thee  an  I  were  in  thy  shoes  I'd  na  like  to  see 
Master  Ned  put  before  me  if  the  matter  o'  going 
to  London.  Lord !  Lord !  how  strange  things 
come  around.  'Twas  only  this  very  day  I  said  to 
Wat  when  we  were  coming  back  from  Warwick 
and  were  e'en  speaking  o'  Ned's  fair  fortune — 
'  Why,'  says  I,  '  an  what  Master  Schoolmaster 
saith  be  true,  Hamnet  Shakespeare  is  the  better 
scholard  o'  the  two  lads,  though  he  is  na  so  old. 
Tis  a  pity  now,'  quoth  I,  '  that  he  hath  na  a  few 
more  years  to  his  count  that  he  might  be  going 
away  instead  o'  Ned.'  So  were  we  talking  to- 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       173 

gether,  him  and  me,  when  Ned  and  some  o'  his 
mates  come  along.  We  all  drew  up  for  a  few 
words,  and  I  wot  na  how  it  befell,  but  the  thought 
o'  thee  was  still  in  my  mind,  so  I  spoke  right  out 
and  said : 

"  '  Tis  true  then,  thou  wilt  only  keep  the  place 
for  thy  nephew.' 

"  Whereat  Ned  was  mightily  wroth,  and  quoth 
he :  '  I  keep  the  place  for  no  one  ;  I  am  to  be  to 
my  brother  as  his  own  right  hand.' 

"'How?'  said  I,  stung  by  his  tone,  for  I  had 
spoke  him  fair.  '  I  leave  it  to  all  here :  is't  na  a 
son's  place  to  be  his  father's  right  hand  ? ' 

"  Then  were  they  all  loath  to  speak,  but  Wat — 
who  hath  ever  a  pretty  love  o'  justice,  and  is  as 
full  o'  courage  as  a  tabour  is  o'  sound — called  out 
right  boldly  :  '  F  faith,  'tis  true.' 

"  That  angered  Master  Ned  the  more — so  that 
he  fumed  and  blustered,  like  any  wench  ready 
for  the  ducking- staol  —  and  he  said,  stamping 
about : 

"  '  There  be  sons  and  sons,  just  as  there  be 
brothers,  and  my  Brother  Will  hath  ever  a  sharp 
eye  to  what  is  best ;  he  knoweth  that  o'  the  two — 
his  son  or  me — even  an  we  were  both  o'  one  age, 
I'd  serve  his  purpose  more  fully.  He  hath  a 
pretty  affection  for  the  little  lad  ;  but  it  is  only  a 
child,  and  weakly,  too.  My  brother  hath  other 
plans  for  him,  though  his  cake  is  mostly  dough 


174        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

where  the  lad  is  concerned ;  but  wi'  me  now,  he 
seeth  'tis  in  my  buttons  to  rise  and  do  him 
honour.' 

"  And  so  Ned  bragged  on,  wi'  more  about  thee 
than  I  will  na  say,  only  it  was  worser  than  aught 
that  went  afore." 

Hamnet's  legs  trembled  beneath  him.  He  had 
not  realized  until  that  moment  how  really  tired 
he  was,  nor  did  he  understand  the  strange  sen- 
sation of  numbness  that  was  creeping  over  him. 
He  had  caught  a  little  chill  while  sleeping,  no 
doubt.  He  sat  down  on  the  ground  by  Silver, 
and  made  a  pretence  of  adjusting  the  collar, 
though  his  fingers  shook  with  that  new  feeling 
of  weariness  that  had  taken  possession  of  him. 
After  a  brief  pause  he  looked  up. 

"  And  this  was — when  ?  " 

"  An  hour  or  so  agone,"  Diccon  answered. 
"  Nay,  I'll  keep  naught  back.  Dost  see  this  hurt 
upon  my  cheek  ?  Tis  thine  uncle's  mark,  but  I'll 
write  me  yet  as  fair  an  answer  on  's  own  face. 
And  he  hath  lamed  me,  too.  Marry,  this  was  the 
way  o'  it.  There  was  more  o*  his  boasting,  and  I 
could  na  stand  it,  but  up  and  told  him  my  mind. 
'  I'll  make  the  lad's  cause  mine  own,'  I  said,  '  as 
all  honest  men  would  do.  An  thou'rt  na  a  cow- 
ard, meet  me  here  and  now.'  With  that,  we 
stood  off  to  fight,  though  I  was  na  i*  the  trim 
and  he  was  well-breathed.  When  we  were  about 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       175 

to  begin,  I  wot  na  how  it  was,  but  my  foot 
slipped,  and  down  I  went  me  full  length.  Where- 
upon did  they  all  cry  out — his  friends  and  my 
good  Wat — '  Stand  off !  hit  na  a  fallen  man ! ' 
But  Ned  was  on  me  in  a  moment,  beating  and 
kicking  me  mightily.  The  others  made  no  move 
to  drag  him  away — save  only  my  sweet  Wat,  and 
him  they  overpowered  and  beat  when  they  saw 
what  my  fine  gentleman's  will  was.  They  follow 
him  an  he  was  something  come  down  out  o'  the 
skies,  and  they  would  na  cross  him  for  worlds. 
So  Ned  kept  up  wi'  's  pommelling,  and  I'd  cry 
for  no  quarter — na  I !  '  'Tis  thy  day  now,  Ned 
Shakespeare,'  methought,  '  but  the  wheel  will 
turn.'  At  last,  when  his  fists  would  serve  him 
no  longer,  he  fell  to  rating  me  wi'  his  tongue, 
most  shameful ;  and  when  his  breath  did  fail  him, 
then  went  he  off  to  sport  him  furder  wi'  his  talk 
o'  Brother  Will  and  London.  Say  I  na  true, 
Wat  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  ay,  ay,"  Wat  stammered,  lost  in  admira- 
tion of  his  friend's  narrative  powers;  "every 
word's  gospel  true." 

Hamnet  sat  quite  motionless,  staring  before 
him  with  unseeing  eyes,  his  hand  still  on  Sil- 
ver's collar.  He  hoped  they  would  not  ex- 
pect him  to  speak  ;  he  had  no  word  to  say — as 
yet. 

"  So  that's  how  matters  stand  wi'  thy  uncle  and 


176        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

me,"  Diccon  said,  after  the  silence  had  grown 
unbearable  to  him.  "  'Twas  for  thy  sake  I  suf- 
fered, i'  faith ;  but  he  hath  put  an  affront  upon  me 
that  I'll  na  pardon.  I'll  pay  him  back  yet.  Wilt 
thou  help  me  an  thou  canst?  " 

"  Ay,"  Hamnet  answered,  unflinchingly.  "  Tell 
me  what  I  must  do." 

"  Nay,  wilt  thou  swear  it  ?     Come,  thy  hand  !  " 

There  was  the  faintest  trace  of  hesitation  on 
the  little  lad's  part,  then  he  took  his  right  hand 
from  Silver's  trusty  neck,  and  placed  it  in  the 
grimy,  outstretched  palm. 

"  So,"  he  said,  softly,  "  I  swear  it." 

Silver  gave  a  low  growl. 

"  Have  a  care  to  that  beast !  "  Diccon  exclaimed. 
"  I  mislike  the  way  he  eyes  me." 

"  He  meaneth  naught,"  Hamnet  cried,  hastily ; 
"  he  is  as  gentle  as  any  lamb."  Then,  with  a 
swiftness  born  of  inspiration,  for  his  heart  was 
sick  within  him,  and  he  longed  for  home,  he 
added:  "Belike  he's  thinking  o'  his  supper;  we 
must  away." 

"  Nay,  there's  our  plan  first;  thou  must  na  go 
yet.  Woul't  break  thy  word  ?  " 

Diccon  turned  a  suspicious  glance  upon  the 
small  figure,  with  a  sudden  tightening  of  his 
fists  and  something  like  a  snarl  in  his  tones. 

Hamnet's  face  flushed.  He  was  too  low  for 
fighting,  too  little  to  be  trusted.  How  dared 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad        177 

they  treat  him  thus  ?  It  was  too  bitter  to  be 
endured. 

"  A  Shakespeare  hath  never  broke  his  word 
yet,"  he  answered,  proudly,  "and  I'll  not  be  the 
first  to  do  it,  trust  me.  An  what  thou  say'st  is  true 
1  — and  ye  both  say  it  is — I  have  less  cause  than 
ever  to  love  mine  uncle.  But  let  that  pass.  An 
I  loved  him,  I'd  still  see  him  punished  for  what 
he  hath  done ;  so  e'en  tell  me  quickly  o'  thy  plan, 
sith  it  waxeth  late,  and  I  must  hasten  home." 

"  When  doth  thy  father  come?  " 

Hamnet  drew  in  his  breath  sharply.  When  ? — 
There  was  no  need  to  hesitate.  Had  he  not  kept 
count  of  the  lagging  days  on  everything  that 
came  within  his  reach  ?  Was  it  not  his  last 
thought  at  night,  as  it  was  his  first  in  the  morn- 
ing ?  He  lowered  his  head. 

"  Not  to-morrow,  but  the  next  day." 

"  A-Saturday,  then.  Thou'rt  na  cozening  me  ? 
Come,  speak  out  bold." 

"  On  Saturday,  sure." 

"And  when  goeth  hence?" 

"On  Tuesday  morn." 

Silver  stirred  under  the  pressure  of  the  small 
hand  with  a  low  whine  of  pain. 

"Humph!"  Diccon  ejaculated.  "Well,  that 
suiteth  my  purpose  as  good  as  another.  Marry, 
sweet  Ned  Shakespeare,  I'll  be  ready  for  thee  by 
then." 

12 


178        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

He  sat  looking  before  him  for  a  few  moments 
without  speaking,  while  Wat  Cawdrey  regarded 
him  in  open-mouthed  delight,  and  Hamnet  re- 
tained his  position,  stroking  Silver  softly,  his 
heart  like  a  heavy  weight  in  his  breast.  Some- 
how, he  did  not  even  care  to  hear  how  Ned 
should  be  punished.  He  had  no  wish  to  think 
of  Ned,  for  back  of  his  sunny,  handsome  face 
he  could  see  that  other  face,  that  would  be  set 
Londonward  o'  Tuesday  morn,  grown  suddenly 
graver  than  its  wont. 

"  O'  Tuesday,"  Diccon  said,  speculatively,  his 
voice  breaking  in  upon  the  little  lad's  musings 
and  dispelling  them  roughly,  though  he  was  not 
sorry  to  let  them  go.  "  O'  Tuesday  be  it !  But 
before  then  there  cometh  Monday  night,  and 
I'll  give  thine  uncle  reason  to  remember  that 
the  longest." 

Hamnet  shuddered  despite  himself  at  the  ha- 
tred in  the  threatening  tones.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  he  was  in  some  sort  of  a  trap  that  with  every 
passing  moment  narrowed  more  closely  about 
him.  There  was  no  possible  way  of  escape. 

"What  wilt  thou  do?"  he  questioned,  faintly. 
"  Marry,  I  must  know." 

"  And  so  thou  shalt,  my  jolly  bawcock ;  take 
heart !  Trust  all  to  me ;  thy  cause  is  in  my  hands. 
O'  Monday  night,  after  curfew  hath  struck,  thou 
must  find  the  chance  to  give  a  message  to  thine 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad        179 

uncle,  but  thou  must  so  manage  it  that  he'll  na 
suspicion  us.  Belike  'twill  be  better  coming  in 
the  form  o'  a  letter;  thou  art  clerkly,  and  can 
write  it  in  a  hand  he  will  na  know.  But  more  o' 
that  anon  ;  there  may  be  a  letter,  or  no  letter,  as  I 
shall  devise.  'Twill  only  be  a  few  words  at  best 
— meet  an  old  friend,  and  the  place  named,  or 
something  o'  that  sort.  And  when  once  thou 
hast  given  it,  thou  may'st  get  thee  to  bed  wi'  a 
light  heart,  and  in  the  morning  thy  father  will 
ride  forth  alone." 

"  But  Ned  ?  "  Hamnet  whispered  ;  "  thou  wilt 
not  kill  him  ?  " 

"  Beshrew  thee  !  who  talks  o'  killing  ?  "  Diccon 
growled.  "  An  I  hear  thee  say  that  word  again 
I'll  brain  thee  on  the  spot.  I  be  no  murderer;  I'll 
but  give  Ned  Shakespeare  his  quittance  for  this 
debt,  and  there's  an  end." 

"  But  thou  wilt  despitefully  handle  him,"  the 
little  lad  continued,  unabashed,  "  and  I  would  not 
have  that  happen ' 

"Thou  wouldst  na  have  that  happen?"  Diccon 
sneered.  "  And  what  is  thy  lordship's  will  ? 
Shall  we  treat  Master  Ned  to  sweet  words,  and 
give  him  cakes  and  honey  ?  By  my  troth  !  thou 
mind'st  me  o'  the  cat  i'  the  adage,  that  would  have 
fish  and  would  na  wet  her  feet  getting  it.  Thou'rt 
bold  and  thou'rt  na  bold.  Thou  wouldst  see 
thine  uncle  punished,  and  anon  thou  criest  at  the 


180        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

mere  notion  o'  his  hurts,  like  a  girl  that's  pricked 
her  finger.  'Tis  scant  thought  he'll  give  to  thy 
feelings,  once  he's  away  wi'  thy  father,  and  why 
should'st  thou  think  o'  him  ?  " 

"  I  think  not  o'  him,"  Hamnet  retorted  ;  "  go  on 
wi'  thy  plan." 

"I  know  thou'rt  to  be  trusted,  little  Shake- 
speare,"  Diccon  resumed,  "  though  most  fellows 
o'  my  age  would  keep  their  own  counsel,  and  use 
thee  but  as  their  servant.  But  that's  na  Diccon 
Hobday's  way,  which  is  ever  a  fair  and  honest 
way,  and  'tis  in  great  part  thy  quarrel  too.  Well, 
here's  the  very  simpleness  o'  my  scheme  :  Thou 
givest  thine  uncle  word  to  meet  a  friend  for  one 
last  parting.  So  he  cometh  him  to  the  spot  where 
Wat  and  me  be  waiting  i'  the  dark,  wi'  mayhap 
another  tall  fellow  or  two,  and  we  rush  out  and 
overcome  Master  Ned  and  bind  him  fast,  and  bear 
him  away  down  stream  to  a  little  hut  I  wot  of  i' 
the  fields,  and  there  we'll  leave  him.  Is't  not  a 
fair  jest  ?  And  when  he  waketh,  belike  'twill  be 
the  next  night,  or  betimes  o'  Wednesday  morn, 
and  he'll  be  summat  sore  from  the  drubbing  he's 
had.  But  what  o'  that?  Many  a  lad  at  school 
getteth  a  stiffer  threshing  for  an  unlearnt  lesson. 
When  my  fine  gentleman  starteth  for  home  thy 
father  will  be  well  on  his  journey,  and  Ned  must 
tarry,  forsooth,  till  he  cometh  again.  La,  Strat- 
ford 'ull  be  but  a  sorry  place  wi'  one's  thoughts 


Will  Shakespeares  Little  Lad        181 

all  for  London  ;  but  beggars  may  na  be  choosers, 
and  thine  uncle  will  have  a  tamer  tongue  in  's 
head,  I  warrant  me,  after  this  dose.  So  thou  wilt 
be  avenged  for  thy  quarrel,  whate'er  it  may  be. 
I*  faith,  thy  father  will  be  wroth,  and  will  set  Ned 
down  as  a  promise-breaker  and  a  carouser,  and  so 
belike  someone  will  never  go  to  London,  after 
all." 

"  But  that  will  not  be  true,"  Hamnet  interrupted. 
"  'Twould  not  be  right  for  my  father  to  hold  such 
thoughts  ;  I  could  not " 

It  was  the  last  flare  of  the  candle  of  righteous- 
ness, the  last  assertion  his  conscience  made  against 
the  network  of  evil  that  was  binding  him  fast. 

Diccon  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  loud  impreca- 
tion, and  the  small  lad  would  have  suffered  griev- 
ous harm  at  his  hand  had  not  the  watchful  dog 
leaped  suddenly  forward  as  his  champion. 

"  Tis  too  late  for  thee  to  say  what  thou  could'st 
na  do,"  Diccon  cried,  keeping  a  great  control 
over  himself ;  "  'tis  only  now  what  thou  canst. 
Think  on  that !  Thou  hast  sworn  to  help  us,  and 
I'll  e'en  give  thee  a  thought  to  spur  thy  craven 
spirit  on.  An  I'd  no  stomach  for  this  fight, 
'twould  keep  me  from  faltering  just  to  remem- 
ber how  Ned  hath  meant — ay,  and  still  meaneth — 
to  cozen  thee  from  thy  father's  love.  I  did  na 
tell  thee  a  tithe  o'  what  he  said ;  I  kept  it  back 
from  sheerest  pity.  Twould  poison  thy  life  to 


1 82        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

the  longest  day  o'  it,  an  thou  should'st  come  to 
Gaffer  Castrell's  age,  could'st  thou  but  know." 

"  I'll  not  know,  I'll  hear  no  further  word," 
Hamnet  gasped,  with  something  like  a  sob,  half 
of  grief,  half  of  anger,  choking  his  utterance. 
"  I'll  do  whate'er  thou  wilt,  and  thou  may'st  do 
what  thou  wilt  wi'  Ned,  only  let  me " 

"  Ay,  ay,  my  little  chuck,  I'll  say  a  word  for 
thee,"  Wat  Cawdrey  chimed  in  readily.  "  What 
sayest  thou,  Diccon,  to  letting  the  lad  in  at  the 
pommelling  ?  'Twould  do  his  heart  good  to  hit 
at  Ned  when  he's  sprawling." 

"Think'st  thou  so,  Wat  Cawdrey?"  Hamnet 
cried,  contemptuously.  "  Marry,  I  give  Heaven 
thanks  that  no  two  persons  in  this  world  be  alike. 
I'd  not  hit  my  greatest  foe  under  another  man's 
arm — I  be  not  such  an  arrant  coward  as  that." 

"An  thou  talk'st  o'  cowards,"  the  other  splut- 
tered. 

"Peace,  peace,"  Diccon  interposed.  "What! 
shall  there  be  falling  out  betwixt  sworn  brothers  ? 
Take  hands,  take  hands,  I  say.  So !  Now  thou 
may'st  get  thee  to  thy  home,  boy,  and  fail  na  to 
meet  me  to-morrow  at  cock-shut  time  at  the  elm 
at  the  Dove-house  Close.  And  for  a  nay-word — 
H'm !  let's  see.  What  the  dickens  shall  it  be  ? 
By  the  mass,  I  have  it — it  shall  be  'London  and 
father  ! '  Dost  hear,  little  one?  Say  it  after  me." 

Hamnet  raised   his   head   and   looked  straight 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad        183 

into  the  evil  face  before  him,  his  own  pure,  little 
face  flushed  but  resolute  with  a  strange,  fixed 
expression. 

"  London,"  he  said,  bravely,  "  London  and — and 
father !     I'll  not  forget." 


M 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  hundred  thousand  welcomes  !    I  could  weep 
And  I  could  laugh,  I  am  light  and  heavy.    Welcome  ! 

CORIOLANUS. 

Wherever  the  bright  sun  of  heaven  shall  shine, 
His  honour  and  the  greatness  of  his  name 
Shall  be. 

HENRY  VIII. 

ASTER  WILL  SHAKESPEARE,  turn, 
ing  into  Henley  Street  from  the  Swan, 
where  he  had  left  his  fellow-travellers,  felt 
a  great  thrill  of  satisfaction  as  he  caught  the  first 
glimpse  of  the  home  of  his  birth  set  in  its  fair 
garden.  He  took  off  his  velvet  bonnet  with  its 
curling  feather,  and  waved  it  as  gayly  as  any  boy 
let  out  for  a  half-holiday  waves  his  cap  in  mid-air, 
while  the  shout  that  issued  from  his  happy  throat 
was  a  right  goodly  imitation,  surely,  of  the  shouts 
of  his  youth.  If  he  had  known  a  bitter  pang  of 
disappointment  because  no  slender,  little  figure 
waited  by  the  road-side  as  he  came  riding  over 
familiar  ground  and  searched  each  bush  and  tree 
with  eager  eyes,  expecting  to  hear  the  glad  cry 

'  Father  ! '  at  every  moment,  that  disappointment 

184 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad        185 

was  speedily  swallowed  up  in  the  delight  of  see- 
ing near  at  hand  the  sight  his  heart  most  longed 
for. 

They  were  all  there  by  the  house-door,  or 
darting  out  into  the  lane — his  father,  mother, 
wife,  daughters,  and  the  little  lad — him  the  ardent 
glance  sought  out  first  and  last.  Not  ill,  now 
God  be  praised !  as  he  had  almost  feared  when 
he  passed  along  the  home  stretch  and  no  laugh- 
ing challenge  bade  him  stay  his  horse.  Not  ill — 
and  yet  the  anxious  eyes  saw  an  indescribable 
difference  in  the  upraised  face,  which  was  too 
faint  to  be  called  a  change,  and  which  those  about 
the  boy  had  failed  to  perceive.  On  the  moment 
it  cast  a  shadow  upon  the  man's  heart,  darkening 
it,  even  as  the  sudden  shifting  of  a  cloud  across 
the  sun  will  chase  the  warmth  and  brightness 
from  the  landscape. 

He  gave  a  little  shiver,  as  if  some  coming  evil 
had  already  assumed  tangible  shape.  The  feel- 
ing which  had  dominated  his  breast  for  so  long 
filled  him  with  a  vague  apprehension.  At  any 
time  that  which  he  prized  most  dear  might  be 
swept  from  him.  The  very  sense  of  possession 
was  full  of  a  pathos  too  deep  for  words.  To 
have,  to  hold  —  nay,  what  availed  his  feeble 
strength  ?  The  thought  was  '  as  a  death,  which 
cannot  chose  but  weep  to  have  that  which  it 
fears  to  lose.'  Was  it  only  in  his  fancy,  he  asked 


1 86        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

himself,  that  the  delicate  face  had  grown  thinner 
and  paler  ? 

"Art  not  well,  sweet  heart?"  he  demanded,  as 
he  leaped  to  the  ground  and  caught  the  lad  in  his 
arms,  holding  him  at  a  little  distance  and  scan- 
ning his  features  uneasily. 

"  La,  Will,"  Mistress  Anne  Shakespeare  laughed, 
"  I  do  protest  thou  art  as  full  o'  whimseys  as  an 
old  goody.  Methinks  the  child  is  in  fair  health  ; 
he's  grown  taller  sith  thou  wert  here,  and  belike 
he's  summat  slimmer ;  but,  go  to  !  he  hath  a  par- 
lous appetite,  and  that  I  know  full  well.  Speak 
up,  sirrah  ;  thou  art  not  sick  ?  " 

"  Not  so,  dear  Mother ;   naught  aileth  me." 

"  Ay,  forsooth,  the  lad  is  right,"  Mistress  Mary 
Shakespeare  said,  in  her  reassuring  way  ;  "  'tis 
only  thy  fancy,  sweet  son  —  and  thy  fear,"  she 
added,  in  a  lower  tone,  with  a  little  catch  in  her 
breath  like  a  sob ;  "  nay,  I  see  with  thine  eyes 
sometimes,  and  I  understand.  But  'tis  pure 
fancy  now,"  she  continued,  briskly,  and  her  voice, 
even  in  its  gentleness,  made  one  think  of  the  stir- 
ring of  the  breeze  which  dispels  the  clouds  and 
drives  them  relentlessly  across  the  sky  to  leave 
the  blue  unmarred.  "  And  Nan's  not  wrong 
about  the  appetite  neither;  there's  scant  falling 
off  there.  I  do  bethink  me,  an  he  seemeth  pale 
to  thee,  that  it  is  for  some  cause  which  is  not  far 
to  seek.  The  lad's  slumbers  have  been  broke  o' 


Art  not  well,  sweet  heart?"  lie  demanded. 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       187 

late.  Am  I  not  right,  boy  ?  Thou  need'st  not 
to  hang  thy  head,  dear  wag  ;  I  know  the  trick 
thou  hast  o'  dreaming  wi'  open  eyes.  I  know 
the  little  sums  thou  hast  made  on  everything. 
Nay,  the  shopmen  o'  Middle  Row  keep  not  fair- 
er tallies  o'  their  sales  than  thou  hast  kept  o' 
thy  hours,  and  thy  minutes  even,  sith  ever  thou 
heard'st  that  someone  was  coming  home  from 
London  town." 

"  Ha,  ha,  sweet  Mother  ;  is  that  the  cause  ?  F 
faith,  thou  readest  child-nature  better  than  do 
the  rest  of  us  all  put  together.  Well,  lad,  an 
thou  knew'st  so  exactly  when  I  should  come,  why 
didst  not  meet  me  beyond  the  bridge  ?  " 

Father  and  son  had  fallen  a  trifle  behind  the 
others,  and  at  the  question  the  little  fellow  raised 
his  tortured  eyes  to  the  man's  clear  gaze. 

"  I  could  not  come,"  he  answered,  simply  ;  "  I 
could  not." 

"  So,"  Will  Shakespeare  said,  softly,  with  some- 
thing like  pity  in  his  tones  ;  for  though  he  wist 
not  what  the  trouble  was,  yet  was  he  certain  that 
it  lay  heavy  on  the  small  heart,  and  he  longed  to 
lift  away  the  burden  and  make  all  bright  again — 
"  so,  then  thou  must  have  had  a  strong  reason  to 
stay  thy  feet  that  have  ever  run  to  meet  me — a 
strong  reason." 

He  waited  a  moment  for  the  boy  to  speak,  cast- 
ing a  swift,  downward  look  at  the  lowered  face 


1 88        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

and  the  small  brown  hand  that  passed  restlessly 
to  and  fro  on  Silver's  head. 

A  touch  of  bitterness  stole  over  the  man  at  the 
withholding  of  the  childish  confidence,  and  not 
for  the  first  time  did  he  long  to  bear  the  lad  away 
and  keep  him  always  by  his  side,  where  he  might 
share  his  innermost  thoughts,  and  watch  the  un- 
folding of  his  nature.  He  had  dreaded  that,  liv- 
ing, as  he  was  obliged  to,  the  greater  portion  of 
his  time  apart  from  his  family,  he  would  grow  to 
be  regarded  by  the  little  ones  in  the  light  of  a 
stranger.  And  when  he  said  '  little  ones,'  though 
his  daughters  were  dear  to  him,  he  knew  intui- 
tively that  he  meant  the  lad  in  whom  all  his 
brightest  hopes  were  centred.  Had  his  fear  in 
a  degree  come  true  ?  Was  this  strange  diffidence 
on  the  part  of  the  boy  whose  thoughts  had  ever 
been  as  open  as  the  day  just  a  beginning  of  the 
cooling  of  his  love  ?  The  questions  were  full  of 
torment  to  the  man's  mind.  He  put  them  aside 
hastily,  stung  suddenly  into  the  realization,  by 
the  greatness  of  his  own  affection,  that  the  boy's 
love  was  no  whit  less  deep  than  his,  and  could  not 
fail  him.  He  was  still  smarting  from  the  sense  of 
disappointment  that  had  clouded  his  home-com- 
ing, and  prone  to  magnify  small  causes  into  thrice 
their  size.  That  was  all.  He  was  as  foolish  as 
any  girl ! 

"  An   thou   knew'st  how  I  longed  for  thee,  in 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       189 

very  truth,  them  wouldst  have  made  shift  to  meet 
me,"  he  said,  with  his  tender  smile,  unconsciously 
planting  a  deeper  barb  in  the  little  heart,  which 
was  almost  bursting  with  the  constant  struggle 
between  its  love  and  its  unworthiness.  "  But 
there !  I'll  upbraid  thee  no  more.  Thou'lt  never 
make  me  look  in  vain  again  —  wilt  thou,  dear 
boy?" 

"  Nay,  never  again  " —  the  small  hand  ceased 
stroking  the  dog,  and  clasped  its  mate  tightly  over 
the  man's  arm — "never  again." 

"  A  promise,  and  ratified  thus !  There's  small 
danger  o'  thy  breaking  it.  When  next  I  come 
from  London  thou'lt  be  on  the  lookout,  surely." 

"  Marry,  yea,  though  I'll  not  tell  thee  where — 
'twould  spoil  half  the  surprise." 

"  That  would  it ;  but  surprise  me  no  more  sur- 
prises o'  this  morning's  sort.  Ha  !  Ned,  is't  thou  ? 
Why,  lad,  thou  look'st  bravely — bravely." 

Hamnet  fell  back  as  the  brothers  embraced,  the 
light  in  Ned's  eyes  darkening  the  sudden  happi- 
ness in  his  own.  Was  it  always  to  be  like  this  ? 
Was  Ned  always  to  come  between  ?  For  a  short 
time  he  had  been  able  to  put  his  uncle  from  his 
thoughts,  but  only  for  a  short  time.  The  load  of 
guilt  in  the  small  heart  which  had  made  it  im- 
possible for  the  child  to  meet  his  father,  pressed 
more  heavily  than  before.  Had  it  not  been  pun- 
ishment  enough,  he  asked  himself,  to  relinquish 


i go        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

that  dear  pleasure,  that  in  these  first  moments  of 
a  nearer  drawing  together  he  should  be  spared 
the  pain  of  Ned's  coming  to  thrust  them  wide 
apart  ? 

A  hot  flame  leaped  ;n  the  boy's  breast,  stirring 
the  dormant  anger  there  into  fresh  life.  His  rage 
toward  Ned  had  died  down  in  a  degree,  and  in  its 
stead  he  had  found  himself  longing  to  retract  his 
oath.  What  real  reason  had  he,  aside  from  his 
bitter  jealousy  and  those  cruel  reports  Diccon  had 
spread,  to  thwart  his  uncle  and  to  betray  him  ? 
Silver  had  long  since  granted  forgiveness — a  for- 
giveness which  Hamnet,  in  his  turn,  was  bound  to 
accord  when  that  night,  as  he  hastened  home  from 
Welcombe  Hill,  Ned  had  overtaken  him,  and  had 
made  amends  for  his  ill-doing  of  the  earlier  day. 

It  was  Ned,  too,  who  had  bound  up  Cato's 
wounds  with  dexterous  fingers,  and  had  given  him 
a  new  back;  even  in  Hamnet's  half  -  grudging 
thanks  there  had  been  a  note  of  admiration  for 
the  skilful  work  the  amateur  surgeon  had  accom- 
plished. Still,  the  promise,  which  was  like  a  chain 
about  him,  kept  him  from  any  real  friendship  with 
his  uncle,  and  when  he  found  himself  chafing 
against  its  bounds  he  nursed  his  evil  feelings  back 
to  life  by  the  repetition  of  Diccon's  phrases  and 
his  vague,  intolerable  hints. 

Will  Shakespeare  turned  suddenly  from  his 
brother's  eager  questions  and  looked  around  like 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       191 

one  missing  his  chiefest  good.  A  single  glance  at 
Hamnet's  moody  face  was  in  itself  a  revelation  to 
the  man's  mind,  and  a  thrill  of  joy  warmed  his 
heart  at  the  simple  solution  of  the  difficulty  be- 
fore him,  though  with  its  coming  he  felt  a  stab  of 
distress  at  the  thought  of  the  pain  the  child  was 
suffering.  He  put  out  a  fond  hand. 

"  Why  didst  leave  me  ?  "  he  asked  ;  "  know'st 
thou  not  that  thy  place  is  always  here  ?  " 

He  drew  the  boy's  head  against  his  breast  as 
he  spoke,  and  patted  his  cheek  tenderly. 

"  By  my  troth,  thou  hast  grown  most  marvel- 
lous," he  cried  ;  "  nay,  Ned,  thou  wilt  have  but 
a  short  deputyship,  I'm  thinking — the  true  prince 
will  not  tarry  past  his  due  time." 

Ned  laughed  good-humouredly. 

"  Marry,  that  will  he  not,"  he  said,  "  and  glad 
I'll  be,  i'  faith,  heartily,  when  he  cometh  into  his 
own,  sith  I  know  that  that  day  is  so  dear  to  thy 
thought" 

Hamnet  clung  closer  to  his  father,  his  eyes 
closed  to  keep  back  the  stinging  tears.  How 
dared  Ned  speak  so  fair,  he  asked  himself  an- 
grily— how  dared  he,  when  he  had  said  those  other 
things  ?  Oh  !  if  it  were  only  possible  to  tear  the 
mask  from  his  hateful,  smiling  face  and  expose 
him  truly  as  he  was. 

During  the  next  few  days  the  subtle  change 
which  had  come  over  the  child  was  ever  present 


192        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

to  the  anxious  parent,  who,  from  the  first  moment 
of  their  reunion,  had  noticed  its  existence.  It 
was  not  so  much  that  the  little  lad  looked  ill, 
though  there  was  a  trace  of  languor  discernible 
in  his  appearance,  and  his  flushed  cheeks  and  over- 
bright  eyes  were  in  some  measure  indicative  of 
the  excitement  under  which  he  was  labouring,  but 
in  other  way  the  observant  eyes  were  conscious 
of  an  alteration.  There  was  a  restlessness  about 
the  boy  that  was  far  from  natural ;  he  seemed  to 
be  living  in  a  continual  state  of  repression.  He 
was  full,  too,  of  apprehension,  and  started  like 
a  timid  girl  at  the  least  sound — the  tapping  of  a 
branch  at  the  window,  or  a  low  whistle,  would 
cause  him  manifest  uneasiness — and  even  his  mer- 
riment had  lost  much  of  its  usual  ring.  To  his 
elders  he  maintained  his  customary  courtesy,  and 
his  sisters,  in  his  occasional  fits  of  boisterousness, 
missed  no  whit  of  his  generally  high  spirits;  only 
the  father,  looking  on  with  the  growing  pain  at 
his  heart,  saw  that  something  was  sadly  amiss. 
That  it  was  connected  with  Edmund's  going  he 
was  well  aware,  and  he  waited  for  some  childish 
outburst  of  envy  to  clear  away  the  surcharged 
feelings. 

But  Hamnet's  conduct  toward  his  uncle  was 
full  of  contradictions,  as  his  father  was  not  slow 
to  recognize.  It  was  made  up  largely  of  a  regret 
that  was  something  more  than  the  regret  occa- 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad        193 

sioned  by  the  prospect  of  absence,  and  the  boy 
bore  himself  at  the  same  time  in  an  attitude  of 
mingled  resentment  and  affection.  Often  he 
would  cast  glances  of  anger  and  hatred  at  Ned's 
unconscious  figure,  which  would  be  succeeded 
anon  by  looks  so  full  of  pain  and  sorrow  as  to 
sadden  the  watcher  indescribably. 

The  man  was  never  one  to  disparage  a  child's 
trouble — it  was  as  keen  and  big  to  the  little  mind 
as  it  would  have  been  to  his  larger  one ;  keener 
and  bigger,  in  sooth,  for  childhood  has  no  philos- 
ophy whereby  to  dispel  the  darkness  and  show 
the  way  to  a  better  adjustment  of  the  burden  Fate 
assigns,  since  borne  it  must  be.  He  would  have 
helped  his  boy  in  this  present  instance  with  his 
maturer  wisdom,  but  he  had  too  much  respect  for 
the  sacredness  of  a  child's  feelings  to  strip  them 
of  their  flimsy  covering  and  make  light  of  them 
in  careless,  grown-up  wise.  He  would  view  their 
nakedness  only  at  his  son's  bidding  and  then  he 
would  wrap  them  close  in  the  mantle  of  his  love 
— then,  and  not  till  then.  Meanwhile,  by  a  thou- 
sand indirect  ways,  he  sought  to  make  it  easy  for 
the  little  lad  to  approach  him  with  his  perplexity, 
and  still  the  boy  held  aloof,  not  only  spiritually 
but  physically. 

Hamnet,  on  his  part,  realized  speedily  that  the 
nearness  of  the  old  times  was  something  that 
was  not  to  be  the  centre  and  joy  of  this  particular 
13 


194        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

visit.  Another  season,  when  he  was  more  wor- 
thy, he  told  himself,  he  might  linger  by  his  father's 
side  —  now  he  dared  not!  Now  he  was  almost 
glad  to  share  that  dear  companionship  with  the 
others ;  to  go  without  those  long,  delightful  talks 
of  which  he  had  dreamed  for  months.  Nor  was 
it  only  the  thought  of  his  unworthiness  that 
whipped  him  from  his  father's  society  and  made 
him  an  outsider.  He  was  tormented  by  the  con- 
stant fear  that  in  some  way  he  might  betray  his 
trust.  He  had  boasted  that  no  Shakespeare  had 
ever  held  his  word  lightly,  and  the  dread  that  now 
encompassed  him  was  that  by  some  chance  he 
might  imperil  the  whiteness  of  the  name  his  father 
bore.  Come  what  come  might,  he  must  be  true 
to  Diccon's  hideous  plan,  since  his  oath  was 
given.  There  was  no  alternative.  So  the  little 
lad,  with  his  vague  notions  of  honour,  argued, 
and  so  he  fought  out  his  battles  unaided,  while 
the  tiny  mist  of  misunderstanding  rolled  like  a 
soft,  impenetrable  curtain  between  his  father  and 
himself. 

It  was  a  slight  matter,  but  a  pebble  in  one's 
shoe  will  lame  one  as  surely  as  a  larger  stone,  and 
matters  do  not  have  to  be  of  great  import  to  give 
rise  to  misconceptions  and  consequent  heartaches. 
Something  huge  and  tangible  may  be  overthrown 
with  ease,  when  one  is  braced  for  the  act,  and 
leave  a  pleasant  sense  of  exhilaration  behind,  but 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad        195 

those  little  insidious  things — too  small  almost  for 
notice,  and  which  yet  send  their  roots  into  the 
very  depths  of  one's  being — are  wellnigh  invin- 
cible. 

The  child's  reserve  in  this  respect  was  like  a 
constant  pricking  in  Will  Shakespeare's  side.  It 
implied  more — much  more — than  the  mere  with- 
holding of  his  confidence.  Whatever  he  had 
hitherto  known  or  thought  had  always  been  re- 
vealed, and,  in  the  crucible  of  the  man's  great  love, 
had  been  purified  of  all  dross  by  an  alchemy 
which,  to  the  boy's  thinking,  was  almost  divine. 
But  here  was  a  trouble,  which,  for  some  reason, 
was  not  to  be  so  dealt  with.  What  aid  the  little 
lad  received  was  to  come  from  himself,  or  from 
some  outsider,  who,  for  the  time  being,  stood 
nearer  than  his  father. 

Will  Shakespeare,  with  a  touch  of  jealousy  in 
his  breast,  cast  about  him  to  discover  who  had 
usurped  his  place.  His  quest  was  unavailing. 
There  was  no  one  who  stood  nearer,  seemingly, 
nor  did  he  miss  aught  from  the  child's  adoring 
love.  It  was  as  patent  to  all  as  the  sun  in  the 
heavens.  It  even  appeared  to  have  increased  in 
volume,  if  that  could  be,  though  it  possessed  a  new 
quality,  half  of  humility,  half  of  sorrow.  There 
was  often  a  questioning,  pathetic  look  in  the  wide- 
set  hazel  eyes  as  they  were  turned  upon  the  fa- 
ther's face — a  dumb,  grieved  longing  that  found 


196        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

its  counterpart  in  Silver's  glance  at  times — which 
hurt  the  recipient  as  the  keen  thrust  of  a  knife 
would  have  done.  The  frequent  silences,  too, 
which  fell  upon  the  merry  tongue,  and  the  wild 
bursts  of  extravagant  mirth  which  succeeded 
them,  were  so  unusual  as  to  confirm  the  man's 
first  belief  in  the  lad's  illness.  And  that  subtle 
fear  which  had  made  the  precariousness  of  life  so 
insistent  to  him,  thrilled  him  again  and  again. 

These,  however,  were  the  only  shadows  to  cloud 
the  brief  home-stay.  There  was  much  of  pleas- 
antness besides  —  gay  talks  with  relatives  and 
friends,  walks  a-field  with  a  tail  of  loving,  throng- 
ing children,  delicious  dreamings  in  the  long  after- 
glow, when  the  hush  of  night  was  creeping  up 
over  the  peaceful  land,  lingerings  by  the  tranquil 
river,  with  the  children  again — the  little  lad  near- 
est of  all  leaning  against  his  shoulder,  and  no 
thought  of  estrangement  between  their  happy 
hearts. 

It  was  a  busy  season,  too,  and  one  full  of  deep 
satisfaction  to  gentle  Will  Shakespeare,  whose 
thrift  and  industry  had  been  mainly  instrumental 
in  bringing  about  its  material  advantages.  There 
was  much  talk  between  the  elders  of  the  applica- 
tion which  had  just  gone  up  to  the  Heralds'  Col- 
lege for  a  grant  of  coat-armour,  whereby  John 
Shakespeare,  then  a  yeoman,  might  attain  the 
recognized  position  of  a  gentleman,  and  so  enable 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       197 

his  son,  and  his  son's  son  after  him,  to  take  their 
places  among  the  proudest  of  the  country-side. 

The  old  man,  steeped  in  the  pathetic  silence  of 
age,  grew  garrulous  once  more.  The  possibility 
of  this  honour  coming  at  the  end  of  a  career 
wherein  he  had  known  much  of  the  adverse  turn- 
ings of  Fortune's  wheel  let  loose  the  flood-gates 
of  his  speech,  and  he  lived  over  the  days  when 
he  had  enjoyed  high  places  in  the  town's  gift, 
and  had  made  his  first  application  to  the  Her- 
alds for  arms,  a  proceeding  which  his  haughty 
neighbour  at  Charlecote  had  caused  to  be  put 
one  side.  To  no  one  did  he  open  his  heart  more 
unreservedly  than  to  his  eldest  son,  who  listened 
by  the  hour  to  the  accounts  of  the  sights  the  old 
man  had  seen,  nor  sought  to  belittle  them  by  the 
wideness  of  his  own  experience.  He  was  not 
without  a  feeling  of  pride  himself  at  the  realiza- 
tion of  what  was  no  mere  empty  honour  to  him — 
the  making  fairer  of  the  name  he  loved  ! 

It  was  at  this  time,  too,  that  he  took  the  whole 
family  into  his  confidence,  and  told  them  in  part 
of  his  dream  of  buying  the  '  Great  House  '  in 
Chapel  Lane,  and  how,  now  that  it  was  possible 
for  him  to  accomplish  his  desire,  he  had  already 
taken  steps  toward  the  purchase.  A  little  cloud, 
for  one  moment,  overspread  Mistress  Mary  Shake- 
speare's brow;  then  her  soft  tones  mingled  in  the 
general  chorus  of  surprise  and  joy.  She  was 


198        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

proud  and  thankful  and — yes,  happy — even  while 
the  knowledge  of  what  her  own  loss  would  be 
pressed  heavily  upon  her. 

"  The  '  Great  House '  is  not  so  far  away,"  she 
said,  musingly,  when  the  others  had  done  speak- 
ing, and  unconsciously  she  lifted  the  veil  from 
her  thoughts. 

"  Not  '  Great  House '  to  thee,  sweet  Mother," 
Will  Shakespeare  cried,  hastily ;  "  I'll  not  have  it 
so.  Tis  but  another  home,  and  so  thou  must  call 
it,  where  the  doors  will  be  ever  set  wide  for  thee 
and  thine,  and  no  guest  more  honoured  than  thou 
— nay,  not  even  a  queen,  an  she  could  stay  beneath 
my  poor  roof." 

Hamnet  jumped  up  from  the  settle,  where  he 
had  been  lounging  by  his  father,  and  ran  over  to 
where  the  old  woman  sat,  with  her  tender  eyes 
smiling  bravely  at  them  all.  He  put  his  cheek 
against  hers,  in  the  pretty  way  he  had. 

"  Dear  Grandam,"  he  said,  "  'tis  truly  hard  by ; 
Chapel  Lane  is  but  a  step  away.  Now,  in  good 
sooth,  I  mislike  the  name  o'  'Great  House,'  too,  ex- 
cept to  say  it  over  to  the  boys,  and  then  it  hath  a 
fair  sound — a  monstrous  fair  sound.  But  'twill  not 
be  dearer  than  this  old  place;  no  new  place  could 
be  that,  could  it,  Father  ?  " 

"  Nay,  little  lad,  not  dearer,  and  thou  hast  given 
it  a  name  likelier  to  my  fancy.  An  my  dealings 
with  Master  Underhill  fall  not  through — and  I 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       199 

trow  they  will  not — I'll  call  the  house  'New 
Place,'  e'en  as  thou  hast  said,  so  that  it  will  re- 
member me  o'  this  old  house  and  all  the  happy 
days  I've  known  herein.  And  now,  I  do  bethink 
me,  Sir  Hugh  so  called  it  before  ever  we  were 
born,  and  belike  for  the  same  reason — thinking  o' 
his  former  home " 

"  Well  said,  Will,  well  said,"  his  father  inter- 
posed, "  and  '  New  Place '  is  a  good  phrase,  but  me- 
thinks  'Great  House'  is  still  the  better,  and  it 
hath  been  called  thus  always  within  my  memory. 
I'd  not  meddle  wi'  the  town's  titles  an  I  were  i' 
thy  shoes.  How  now,  wife,  is  not  William  Shake- 
speare, o'  Great  House,  Stratford,  i'  the  County 
o'  Warwick,  Gentleman,  a  marvellous  fine  mouth- 
ful ?  'Tis  excellent,  i'  faith,  very  singular  good." 

But  Will  Shakespeare  only  laughed  for  answer, 
and  his  glance  sought  out  his  mother's  face,  while 
a  swift  look  of  understanding  passed  between  the 
two,  and  then  the  woman  knew  that  the  little  lad's 
words  would  stand  for  all  time. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


I  have  heard  of  the  lady,  and  good  words  went  with  her  name. 

MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

What  we  have  we  prize  not  to  the  worth 
Whiles  we  enjoy  it ;  but  being  lack'd  and  lost, 
Why,  then  we  rack  the  value,  then  we  find 
The  virtue  that  possession  would  not  show  us 
Whiles  it  was  ours. 

MUCH  ADO  ABOUT  NOTHING. 


W 


HEREisHamnet?    Hillo,ho,ho,boy!" 
"  He's  not  within,  Will,  nor  hath  not 


been  this  hour  gone." 


"  Hast  sent  him  on  any  errand,  then  ?  Marry, 
I  spoke  a  holiday  for  the  lad  this  morn  o'  purpose 
to  keep  him  by  me,  and  I've  scarce  laid  eyes  on 
him." 

"  That  hath  not  been  his  fault,"  Mistress  Anne 
retorted  with  a  laugh,  as  she  set  a  stitch  in  her 
work  and  poised  her  head  on  one  side,  the  better 
to  regard  it.  "  He  hath  been  closer  to  thee  than 
thy  shadow  sith  cockcrow  until  a  while  back. 
But  there  hath  been  old  work  to-day  with  all  the 
neighbours  coming  in  for  a  word  wi'  thee.  As 
'tis,  my  mother  is  e'en  gone  off  sore  vexed,  for 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       201 

that  thou  wert  so  taken  up  wi'  Cousin  Greene  at 
the  last,  and  had  no  talk  wi'  her.  Thou'rt  in  her 
ill  books  now  in  very  truth." 

"  Say'st  thou  so?  Then  thou  must  e'en  make 
peace  betwixt  us,  sweet  chuck ;  and  for  the  better 
furthering  o'  that  purpose,  devise  something  for 
me  to  fetch  her  when  next  I  come  hither." 

"  La,  now,  I  do  protest — you  men  e'en  think 
the  surest  way  to  win  a  woman's  heart  is  by 
gauds." 

"  Nay,  Nan,  we  don't  think — perdy  !  we  know. 
I'll  wager  this  chain  o'  mine  against  a  skein  o' 
Coventry  blue  that  thy  good  mother's  anger  will 
melt  away  like  the  snow  in  April  at  the  first 
glimpse  o'  a  trinket  from  London.  But  what 
keepeth  the  boy?" 

"  By  my  troth,  I  wot  not;  he'll  be  here  anon. 
Verily,  thou'rt  as  impatient  as  any  youth  waiting 
for  his  love." 

"  I'  faith,  'tis  so,"  the  man  returned,  with  a 
hearty  laugh  ;  "  but  methinks  'tis  not  like  the  little 
lad  to  leave  me  the  last  day  o'  my  stay.  I  mar- 
vel, now — "  He  broke  off  hastily,  and  went  to 
the  door,  stepping  out  under  the  pent-house  and 
searching  far  and  near  with  his  eagle  glance. 

At  sight  of*  him,  Judith,  who  was  standing  in 
the  lane  with  some  other  children,  darted  half 
shyly  in  his  direction.  He  held  out  his  hand, 
with  his  sunny  smile. 


2O2        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

"  Well,  little  wench,"  he  cried,  as  he  clasped 
her  chubby  fingers  with  a  fond  pressure,  "  thou'rt 
ready,  and  so  am  I ;  but  where  is  that  laggard 
Hamnet — hast  seen  him  ?  " 

"  He  was  even  here,  sweet  Father,  when  Cousin 
Greene  was  within  wi'  thee,  for  he  did  us  some 
handsprings,  like  the  Jack-Pudding  on  May  day  ; 
but  a  big  boy  came  by  and  called  him  aside.  'Twas 
Wat  Cawdrey — a  great  lout  o'  a  fellow — one  I 
could  never  away  with.  Nay,  I  heard  not  what 
they  said,  they  spoke  so  low ;  only  I  could  see 
that  Hamnet  was  e'en  loath  to  do  Wat's  will. 
But,  there  !  thou  knowest  how  he  cannot  bear  to 
ill-convenience  anyone,  so  at  the  last  he  called 
out  that  he  must  be  off  for  a  time,  and  he  said  we 
must  not  tarry  here  for  him — he'd  overtake  us  or 
meet  us  at  Cross-on-the-Hill." 

"  So,"  Will  Shakespeare  laughed,  shortly,  "  the 
king  hath  had  his  day.  What  think'st  thou  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  stammered  the  little  maid,  "  I  wot  not 
what  those  words  mean.  Methought  there  was  no 
king,  6ut  that  the  Queen  did  queen  it  in  's  stead." 

"  Why,  right ;  thou'rt  right,  sweet  duck,  there 
is  no  king.  'Twas  only  I  that  had  forgot." 

He  looked  down  into  the  small,  wondering 
face,  a  tender  smile  growing  in  his  eyes. 

"  I'  faith,  bird,"  he  went  on,  "  thou'rt  slow  o' 
comprehension  ;  but,  by  the  mass,  'tis  better  so — 
belike,  thou'lt  be  saved  many  a  heartache." 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       203 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  Judith  faltered  ;  "  but  I  would 
not  have  the  heartache — nor  any  ache,  in  good 
sooth — though  my  Grandam  Hathaway  saith 
there  be  cures  for  all  troubles.  She  knoweth 
many  goodly  simples,  and  she  hath  a  cramp-ring, 
besides ;  so,  an  my  heart  acheth,  I'll  away  to  her. 
If  ever  thine  dost  ache,  I'll  get  her  to  make  it 
right  for  thee.  Is't  true,  as  Susanna  saith,  sweet 
Father,  that  the  great  people  at  Court  take  doses 
o'  gold  and  pearls,  to  make  their  bodies  well 
withal  ?  " 

"  Ay,  that  they  do,  little  one.  Susanna  hath  a 
sprack  memory  for  what  I  say.  Pulverized 
pearls,  and  powdered  diamonds,  and  salt  o'  gold, 
they  be  considered  great '  cure-alls '  by  people  o' 
quality — and  there's  coral,  too,  which  some  esteem 
the  most  potent  o'  all.  But  the  Queen,  herself, 
is  chary  o'  physic-taking ;  and  well  she  may  be, 
when  such  stuffs  are  prescribed.  Nature  is  our 
best  doctor." 

"  The  Queen  is  not  over-brave,"  Judith  hastened 
to  say,  so  preoccupied  in  her  own  delight  at  talk- 
ing that  she  did  not  heed  the  expression  of  pain 
on  her  father's  face.  "  Thou  know'st  the  tale  o' 
her  toothache?  What!  thou  shak'st  thy  head? 
La,  now,  I  do  protest  I  wish  Ham  net  were  by — 
he's  such  a  master  hand  at  telling  o'  stories. 
But,  an  thou  know'st  it  not,  and  would  hear  it, 
I'll  e'en  do  my  best. 


2O4        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

"  Why  once,  ever  so  many  years  agone,  the 
Queen  had  a  grievous  pain  in  her  tooth  so  that 
she  could  get  no  sleep  by  night  nor  day,  and  all 
her  great  men  were  in  a  sore  coil  knowing  not 
what  to  do  to  ease  her  o'  it.  And  some  folks  did 
say — "  Judith  lowered  her  voice  from  the  high 
pitch  it  had  assumed  in  her  excitement  and  looked 
cautiously  around — "  some  folks  did  say  she  was 
suffering  from  black  magic  the  wicked  had  used 
against  her.  Then  the  doctors  quarrelled  among 
themselves  so  that  her  lords  were  fain  to  send  for 
an  outlandish  wise-man  who  had  ever  great  skill 
in  curing  the  toothache.  But  when  he  came 
from  over-seas  they  would  not  let  him  in  to  see 
her  Majesty,  for  that  they  feared  he  was  a  papist 
or  a  Jew.  So  he  e'en  writ  out  a  letter  all  in  Latin 
and  he  said  he  was  unworthy  to  come  after  such 
wonderful  doctors,  still  in  his  humble  mind  the 
tooth  were  best  out — 'twas  the  quickest  way  o' 
o'ercoming  the  ill. 

"And  the  Queen,  marry,  would  hear  no  word 
o'  it,  whereat  all  her  great  men  got  them  down 
on  their  knees  and  beseeched  her,  but  she'd  not 
hearken  to  their  prayers.  Though  the  tooth  did 
pain  her,  she  wanted  not  to  have  it  go,  and  be- 
sides, thou  know'st,  she  was  frightened  o'  the 
pulling,  ay,  truly,  that  she  was  !  Then  up  rose  an 
old  man — I  wot  not  his  name — and  said  the  pull- 
ing would  not  hurt  much,  'twould  soon  be  over. 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       205 

And,  quoth  he :  '  I  have  not  many  teeth  left,  but 
your  Majesty  shall  see  how  easy  'tis  after  all  to 
let  one  go.'  Whereupon  did  he  ope  his  mouth 
wide  and  he  bade  the  master  surgeon  to  pull  wi' 
all  his  might.  And  so  he  did,  and  the  old  man 
never  even  said  '  boo ! '  when  the  tooth  came 
forth.  Then  the  Queen  took  heart,  and  she  e'en 
had  her  tooth  out  on  the  spot."  Judith  ended 
her  recital  with  a  long  sigh. 

"  That's  all  there  is  to  the  tale,  good  Father," 
she  said,  after  a  moment,  "  every  word,  but  I  wish 
I  knew  whether  her  Majesty  cried  or  no.  Dost 
think  she  did?" 

"  Marry,  sweetheart,  I  doubt  it  not.  She  hath 
lusty  lungs,  and  belike  she  boxed  the  master  sur- 
geon's ears  for  his  pains  and  her  own." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  thee  say  that,  for  Susanna 
will  not  have  it  that  the  Queen  uttered  a  sound, 
and  Hamnet  saith,  an  she  did,  'twas  no  more  than 
the  veriest  squeak,  for  she'd  not  be  outdone  in 
bravery  by  one  o'  her  own  Court.  But  I  feel  sure 
she  took  oh  most  mightily.  Poor  Madam  Queen! 
An  the  great  Sir  cried  not  for  the  hurt  o'  his 
tooth,  'twould  not  make  the  parting  wi'  her  own 
any  easier  to  bear,  and  so  I  tell  them." 

"  Thou'rt  wise  after  thine  own  fashion,"  laughed 
the  man,  pulling  the  child's  ear  gently,  "  as  the 
others  are  after  theirs.  F  faith,  when  all's  said  and 
done,  we  do  but  suffer  our  own  pain,  each  man  for 


206        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

himself,  and  how  we  bear  it  is  but  a  question  o'  our 
natures.  And  which  is  best — who  shall  say — Sue's 
way,  Hamnet's  way,  thine,  mine,  or  the  Queen's  ? 
Though  I  cry  her  Majesty's  pardon  for  naming 
o'  her  last.  Now  Heaven  send  thee  much  happi- 
ness, little  maid,  and  scant  cause  for  tears,  say  I ! 
Prithee,  no  more  prattling,  though  thou  hast  di- 
verted me  vastly,  and  I  give  thee  thanks,  but  get 
thee  in  and  tell  thy  mother  and  grandmother  to 
lay  aside  their  stitchery.  They  must  e'en  play  the 
idle  housewives  with  us  this  afternoon.  Come, 
hasten,  hasten,  we'll  away  to  Cross-on-the-Hill.  I 
warrant  me,  the  lad  will  be  there  before  us." 

Meanwhile  Hamnet  was  crouched  in  a  low 
dark  room  of  an  ill-built  hovel  in  Sheep  Street, 
listening  dispiritedly  to  the  wrangling  of  his  two 
fellow  -  conspirators,  and  Silver  who  was  not 
granted  admittance  by  Diccon,  lay  without  the 
door  waiting  impatiently  for  his  master's  coming. 
It  seemed  an  eternity  of  time  to  both  boy  and 
dog  before  they  were  together  once  more  and 
were  speeding  forth  across  the  fields  and  by  di- 
vers short  cuts  to  the  rendezvous  on  the  hill. 
The  lad's  face  was  flushed  and  his  breath  came  in 
hurried  gasps.  If  he  should  be  too  late  !  A  mist 
danced  before  his  eyes  at  the  mere  thought,  and 
he  stumbled  clumsily  in  his  haste.  This  after- 
noon that  had  meant  so  much  to  him,  when  every 
golden  moment  should  have  been  spent  at  his 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       207 

father's  side,  was  slipping  by  so  fast.  There  was 
no  way  to  hold  it  back,  no  way  to  live  it  over ! 
The  very  last  afternoon  ! 

In  a  lightning's  flash  he  reviewed  the  happen- 
ings of  the  holiday  his  father  had  obtained  for 
him.  There  was  the  walk  in  the  early  morning 
to  the  '  Great  House ' — '  New  Place,'  the  little  lad 
corrected  himself  quickly — just  the  two  of  them 
going  hand  in  hand  along  the  streets  where,  on 
every  side,  the  folk  stepped  forward  with  some 
word  of  greeting,  and  then  there  was  the  visit  to 
the  house  itself.  He  remembered  well  how  he 
had  strutted  about  the  garden  while  his  father  and 
Master  Underhill  were  deep  in  talk  and  had  cast 
proud  glances,  ever  and  anon,  at  the  school  oppo- 
site to  see  if  any  of  the  boys  were  looking  in  won- 
derment at  his  being  there.  Then  home  again  to 
the  eleven-o'clock  dinner,  and  after  that  no  peace 
at  all  with  father,  with  ail  the  visitors  coming  in. 

Well  'twas  passing  pleasant  to  stand  by  and 
listen  to  the  talk,  now  merry,  now  wise.  Talk  of 
the  Queen,  mark  you !  and  the  expedition  to 
Cadiz,  and  my  Lord  Essex  —  he  that  was  so 
young  and  bold  —  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  too, 
and  his  vessel  the  Warspite  and  how  they'd  be 
avenged  on  the  Spanishers  for  all  our  men  had 
suffered  at  their  hands.  And  talk  of  the  plays 
and  players,  and  bear-baitings — a  sport  the  Queen 
loved  mightily — F  faith,  'twas  monstrous  divert- 


208        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

ing  to  hear  it  all  and  then,  look  you !  Cousin 
Greene  must  e'en  fall  to  talking  of  cattle  and 
such  like,  so  that  any  sensible  lad  would  be 
driven  forth  to  where  the  girls  and  their  gossips 
were  playing  in  the  garden.  Well !  'twas  pleas- 
ant, too,  there  for  a  while,  until 

Hamnet  broke  off  in  his  thoughts  with  a  shud- 
der. In  his  ears  he  could  still  hear  that  low 
whistle — two  long,  shrill  notes,  and  then  a  pause 
while  one  could  count  three,  then  the  notes  again 
followed  by  a  cuckoo's  call.  He  had  waited  all 
Saturday  for  that  signal,  listening,  listening,  but 
it  had  not  come  to  mar  the  day.  Then  Sunday, 
from  the  earliest  time  of  waking  until  long  after 
the  house  was  quiet  for  the  night,  he  had  waited, 
fearing — hoping  as  the  hours  went  by — and  fear- 
ing again,  and  still  there  was  no  sign ;  until  at  last 
he  had  cheated  himself  into  the  belief  that  after 
all  Ned  was  not  to  be  punished,  that  that  inter- 
view on  Welcombe  Hill  was  some  hideous  dream 
which  had  affrighted  him.  Monday  a  holiday — 
Monday  his  father's  last  day  at  home  —  Chapel 
Lane  in  the  morning,  and  the  prospect  of  that  de- 
licious stroll  in  the  afternoon,  through  the  mead- 
ows and  woods  to  the  hill  where,  in  his  youth, 
Will  Shakespeare  had  been  wont  to  meet  Anne 
Hathaway,  and  where,  ever  since,  during  the  suc- 
ceeding years  on  each  home  visit,  there  was  con- 
stant pilgrimage  made  to  the  spot. 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       209 

And  it  was  afternoon  and  they  had  all  set  forth, 
a  glad,  frolicsome  train,  only  he,  Hamnet,  was  not 
one  of  the  number.  Something  like  a  spasm  in 
the  lad's  throat  choked  him,  and  as  he  put  up  his 
hand  to  wrench  the  band  of  his  shirt  aside,  a  lit- 
tle, crackling  sound  followed  the  motion.  It  was 
very  faint,  and  yet  on  the  moment  it  was  like 
thunder  in  the  boy's  ears  and  seemed  to  cast  a 
leaden  weight  upon  the  flying  feet  so  that  they 
dragged  painfully.  How  could  he  go  on?  How 
could  he  go  into  his  father's  presence  when  in  his 
bosom  he  carried  that  bit  of  paper  which  would 
snuff  out  Ned's  hopes? 

He  could  not  go  forward.  He  would  creep 
away  and  wait  in  hiding  through  the  long,  long 
hours  of  the  night  past  the  sunrise,  past  the  time 
of  father's  going  and  then  crawl  home.  But 
Ned  would  be  safe — safe  on  the  London  road  at 
father's  side  journeying  toward  his  heart's  de- 
sire. 

Hamnet  paused  irresolute  and  pressed  his  ach- 
ing temples  with  his  trembling  hands.  Was  that 
plan  best  ?  Would  it  do  ?  He  cared  not  if  Die- 
con  Hobday  and  Wat  Cawdrey  wreaked  their 
vengeance  on  him  ;  that  he  would  as  lief  meet, 
he  could  stand  a  threshing  as  well  as  the  next  one 
and  make  no  cry  so  long  as  Ned  was  safe  and 
fa'ther's  plans  unbroke.  Father's  plans  !  Down 
came  the  hands  and  a  blinding  rush  of  tears 
14 


2io       Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

blurred  everything.  Father's  plans — Why  !  he — 
Hamnet — was  part  of  those  plans,  this  very  after- 
noon's pleasure  was  devised  chiefest  for  his  sake. 

Despite  the  cruel  insinuations  Diccon  had 
poured  forth,  the  lad's  loyal  faith  in  his  father  had 
not  been  shaken  for  an  instant.  Ned  must  have 
said  those  ill  things,  since  Diccon,  who  loved  the 
truth,  maintained  he  had  and  seemed  sore  dis- 
tressed in  the  repetition,  but  that  they  had  orig- 
inated with  his  father  was  a  possibility  that 
Hamnet  would  not  even  admit  into  his  thoughts. 
Ned  alone  was  responsible  for  them. 

With  a  contrary  rush  of  feeling  the  little  lad 
experienced  a  thrill  of  gladness  at  the  thought  of 
the  punishment  which  was  so  shortly  to  be  meted 
out  to  his  uncle,  but  the  pleasure  was  as  fleeting 
as  a  bubble's  beauty.  'Twas  gone  in  an  instant. 
And  again  that  project  of  hiding  knocked  for  ad- 
mittance at  his  mind.  'Twould  be  passing  easy, 
he  argued,  he  knew  so  many  excellent  places. 

His  heart  suddenly  rose  and  confronted  his 
specious  reasoning.  And  what  of  father?  What 
of  the  worry  and  sadness  he  would  know  waiting 
for  him — Hamnet — to  come  home,  waiting,  wait- 
ing— What  of  the  fear  that  would  grow  as  the 
time  slipped  by  ?  The  river — highwaymen — what 
other  horrors?  The  whole  town  would  be 
aroused,  neighbours  and  the  watch  going  forth 'to 
beat  up  the  country-side  for  Will  Shakespeare's 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       211 

little  lad.  Who  else  would  suffer  through  those 
tedious-slow  night  hours?  Mother,  gran,  Sue, 
Judith,  Ned,  grandfather — the  list  stretched  out 
indefinitely.  And  if  they  came  not  upon  his  hid- 
ing-place, would  father  go  off  in  the  morning 
back  over  the  road  to  London,  or  would  he  stay 
and  search  and  search  ?  There  was  his  word  to 
keep  and  important  business  calling  him  on  the 
one  hand,  and  there  was  the  finding  of  his  little  lad 
on  the  other.  And  which  would  be  the  weight- 
iest ? 

The  small  heart  beneath  that  folded  treacher- 
ous paper  leaped  quickly.  No  need  to  even  ask 
the  question.  There  would  be  no  thought  of  bus- 
iness, or  of  honour  even,  on  the  man's  part  at  such 
a  time.  And  up  in  London  town  his  brother 
players  would  say,  chiding  the  impatient,  '  'Tis 
not  like  sweet  Will  Shakespeare,  he  hath  never 
broke  his  word  before,  belike  some  evil  chance 
hath  fallen  upon  him.' 

Hamnet's  face  stiffened  with  a  sudden  resolve. 
He  must  go  forward.  Nothing  must  come  in  the 
way  of  his  father's  honour  or  his  happiness.  Only 
that  much  was  clear  to  the  child's  troubled  mind — 
that  and  the  imperative  duty  which  his  own  evil 
spirit  had  lain  upon  him  and  from  which  there 
was  no  relief.  He  must  travel  over  every  foot  of 
the  road  to  the  fulfilling  of  his  vengeance,  no  mat- 
ter now  what  it  cost  him  of  pain  or  regret,  but  in 


212        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

carrying  it  out  he  had  no  right  to  cloud  the  last 
few  hours  of  his  father's  stay.  He  had  missed  so 
much  happiness,  himself,  from  the  short  visit,  that 
he  wondered,  as  he  hastened  on,  if  his  father  had 
known  in  his  turn  any  falling  off  in  the  usual 
cheer.  There  had  been  the  same  walks,  the  same 
pleasures,  but  with  a  difference.  Between  the 
two,  ever  growing  higher,  was  the  secret  in  the 
child's  breast  which  poisoned  all  his  time  and 
made  the  nights,  as  he  lay  sleepless  in  the  attic, 
interminable  in  their  going,  and  the  days,  with 
their  haunting  dread,  dark  though  the  sun  shone 
its  brightest. 

And  now  the  visit  was  almost  over,  and  after  it 
had  come  to  an  end  what  would  happen  ?  Ham- 
net  had  asked  himself  that  question  with  a  sick- 
ening iteration.  Ned's  fury  when  he  should  learn 
what  part  his  nephew  had  played  in  frustrating 
his  designs  would  be  nothing,  less  than  nothing,  to 
bear.  There  was  something  else  that  thrilled  the 
little  lad  with  a  feeling  worse  than  the  fear  of  any 
physical  hurt.  The  thought  not  only  of  his  fa- 
ther's displeasure,  but  of  his  sorrow.  How  would 
he  look  ?  What  would  he  say  when  everything 
should  be  made  known  ?  For  it  must  be  made 
known  if  ever  between  them  there  would  be  the 
old  tender  relationship  again.  Wouldn't  some- 
thing of  its  sunniness  be  lost  forever?  Could  it 
ever  be  just  the  same  again  ? 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       213 

Over  and  over,  through  the  night  watches, 
those  thoughts  had  come  to  the  child  while  the 
clock  in  the  living-room  below-stairs  had  sounded 
like  a  human  voice,  saying  monotonously  :  '  Nev- 
er again !  Never  again ! '  The  words  had  crept 
into  the  boy's  mind  and,  as  he  ran  along,  he  re- 
peated them  with  a  dull  persistence,  at  first  un- 
consciously and  later  with  a  growing  conscious- 
ness :  '  Never  again  !  Never  again!'  Suddenly 
the  sound  of  his  voice  in  that  indistinct  murmur 
aroused  him.  With  a  rush  their  meaning  was 
clear  to  him. 

Well !  if 't  was  to  be  '  never  again  '  this  hour  at 
least  was  his  and  he  would  make  it  fair  while  it 
lasted.  There  should  be  no  thought  of  what 
must  happen  after  curfew.  He'd  not  think  of 
that,  he'd  think  of  other  things — of — of —  Why, 
there  was  that  anthem  he  had  sung  with  the  boys 
at  Trinity  o'  Sunday.  How  pleased  and  proud 
father  had  looked  as  he  listened  from  his  place, 
his  eyes  just  watching  one  small  lad  who  had  led 
the  others,  singing  loud  and  clear  the  words  of 
their  favourite  psalm : 

" '  He  shall  feed  me  in  a  green  pasture  and  lead 
me  forth  beside  the  waters  of  comfort.'  " 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Like  as  the  waves  make  toward  the  pebbled  shore, 
So  do  our  minutes  hasten  to  their  end ; 
Each  changing  place  with  that  which  goes  before, 
In  sequent  toil  all  forward  do  contend. 

SONNET  LX. 

Heaven  give  you  many,  many  merry  days  ! 

MERRY  WIVES  OF  WINLSOR. 

WILL  SHAKESPEARE,  looking  off  at 
the  view  he  loved,  missed  something 
from  its  usual  beauty.  It  was  not  that 
the  meadows  were  less  fair,  though  in  truth  they 
had  lost  a  little  of  the  fresh  greenness  of  the 
spring  and  were  no  longer  starred  with  tall 
moon -daisies,  but  what  summer  had  deprived 
with  one  hand  she  had  recompensed  bountifully 
with  the  other,  and  in  the  glow  of  rich  maturity 
the  delicious  promise  of  blossoming-time  was  al- 
most forgotten.  It  was  not  that  the  Avon,  pass- 
ing through  the  broad  valley  with  the  fields  ris- 
ing on  both  sides  in  softly  swelling  undulations, 
had  grown  turbid,  it  still  curved  along,  a  gleam- 
ing coil  of  silver,  like  some  wondrous  chain  bind- 
ing the  emerald  land. 

It  was  not  that  Stratford  was  less  dear  to  the 
214 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       215 

eyes  that  had  grown  accustomed  to  the  sight  of 
palaces  and  lofty  cathedrals,  or  less  lovely  for 
that  matter.  It  was  not  that  the  flowers  at  his 
feet  —  '  the  flowers  of  middle  summer'  —  that 
raised  their  faces  to  catch  his  glance,  were  not  as 
sweet  as  those  of  an  earlier  day,  nor  that  the  sky- 
lark, the  blackbird,  and  the  thrush  had  departed 
from  the  spot  which,  according  to  his  fancy,  they 
frequented  longer  than  any  other  of  the  neigh- 
bouring localities.  There  was  an  occasional  shy 
burst  of  song  from  their  little  feathered  throats 
as  they  flew  past,  frightened  from  their  haunts 
by  the  gay  band  of  people  who  had  invaded  their 
solitude  with  laughter  and  pastimes.  The  place 
was  still  as  fair  as  he  had  known  it  in  those  other 
times  when,  with  a  heart  beating  high  with  love, 
he  had  hastened  thither  to  meet  the  Shottery  lass. 

It  was  as  pleasing  to  the  eye,  and  yet  a  vague 
cloud  had  robbed  the  scene  of  much  of  its  bright- 
ness. He  stood  a  trifle  apart  from  the  others, 
resting  after  a  game  of  hoodman-blind,  and  look- 
ing off  at  the  way  curving  along  from  Stratford. 
Suddenly  the  mist  cleared  and  never  was  the  land 
lovelier,  nor  the  sky  fairer ;  never  did  the  river 
flash  more  radiantly,  nor  the  birds'  song  sound 
sweeter — for  there  was  the  little  lad  with  Silver 
at  his  side  coming — coming  along. 

Will  Shakespeare  turned  with  a  quick  exclama- 
tion and  hurried  toward  the  advancing  figures. 


2i6        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

"  Marry,  my  pretty  knave,"  he  said,  with  a  tinge 
of  impatience  in  his  playful  voice,  "  thou  art  eaten 
up  wi'  carking  cares.  Could'st  not  have  kept 
this  afternoon  free  for  me — my  last  afternoon, 
too?" 

"  Nay,  an  I  could  I  would  not  have  budged 
from  thy  side,"  the  boy  answered,  catching  the 
extended  hand  in  both  of  his ;  "  and  that  thou 
know'st  full  well,  I  warrant.  I  meant  not  to  stay 
so  long — but  'twas  an  old  promise  and  I  could 
not  break  it." 

"  F  faith  I  should  have  scorned  to  have  thee 
treat  thine  honour  so  lightly.  I'd  liefer  thou  'dst 
stayed  the  whole  day  from  me — cruel  as  that 
would  have  seemed — than  have  had  thee  depart 
so  much  as  an  hair's-breadth  from  thy  given  word." 

Hamnet's  grasp  loosened  and  his  face  twitched. 
After  a  moment  he  raised  his  eyes  to  his  father's 
with  a  world  of  entreaty  in  his  glance,  which  for 
once  went  unnoticed. 

"  But  a  boy's  word,"  he  faltered,  "  a  boy's  word 
now,  is  no  such  great  matter.  Tis  not  o'  so 
much  import  as  a  man's." 

"Ay,  verily  it  is.  There  be  no  degrees  in 
honour — it  knoweth  no  question  o'  age.  A  prom- 
ise, sweet,  an  thou  giv'st  it,  or  I  give  it,  is  still  a 
promise — something  we  both  must  keep,  though 
it  cost  us  dear.  Once  thou  hast  pledged  thy 
word  in  good  faith  to  another,  so  it  must  stand — 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       217 

the  Queen's  oath  is  not  stronger.  Let  it  never 
be  said  o'  my  little  lad  that  he  is  a  promise- 
breaker.  Come,  I  forgive  thee  thine  absence  sith 
thou  wert  but  doing  o'  thy  bounden  duty.  The 
afternoon  hath  been  hardest  to  thee,  I  trow,  but 
past  cure  is  still  past  care — thou  hast  missed  rare 
sport." 

Hamnet  stood  pondering  for  a  minute.  How 
could  he  ask  to  be  guided  aright  in  this  troubled 
matter  when  he  had  bound  himself  to  secrecy? 
He  knew  now,  in  part,  what  his  father  thought 
of  the  sacredness  of  a  promise — what  a  boy's 
word  was  worth  to  him.  And  that  should  be 
sufficient  guide  for  his  own  conduct.  Mean- 
while this  was  his  hour — the  time  that  would 
never  come  again !  He  darted  forward  with  a 
loud  cry,  tugging  at  the  man's  hand,  and  dragging 
him  a  laughing  prisoner  into  the  gay  group 
where  were  assembled  Mistress  Mary  and  Mis- 
tress Anne  Shakespeare,  Sue  and  Judith  with 
their  cousin  Ursula,  and  pretty  Katharine  Rogers. 
Ned,  as  they  came  up,  was  adjusting  a  plank 
across  a  tree  -  stump,  while  little  Humphrey 
Shakespeare,  with  the  prospect  of  '  riding  the 
wild  mare  '  in  company  with  his  playmate  Tom 
Quiney,  stood  at  one  side  shrieking  out  direc- 
tions in  shrill  excitement,  and  Tom  Combe  alter- 
nately lent  a  helping  hand  or  fanned  his  heated 
face  with  his  cap. 


218        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

"  Such  fine  doings,"  Judith  said,  plucking  at  her 
brother's  sleeve  as  he  passed;  "  methought  thou 
wouldst  lose  them  all.  Prythee,  sweet  Father, 
wilt  play  at  barley-break,  now  Hamnet's  here  ?  " 

"  Ay,  that  I  will,  or  prisoners'  base,  '  More 
sacks  to  the  mill,'  or  whate'er  thou  devisest." 

"  Then  barley-break  let  it  be,"  Ned  cried,  hav- 
ing set  the  two  little  lads  to  riding  up  and  down; 
"  we  be  over  many,  'tis  true,  but  we  can  e'en  take 
turns.  Come,  let's  draw  cuts." 

So  the  young  folk,  with  William  Shakespeare 
in  their  midst  as  gay  as  the  gayest,  played  at  the 
old  sport,  while  Mistress  Mary  and  her  daughter- 
in-law  sat  beneath  a  tree  looking  on  with  happy 
eyes.  And  there,  after  the  pastime  was  ended, 
the  others  came  to  rest  themselves  with  a  game 
of  '  Spanish  merchant '  which,  as  everyone  doth 
know,  was  made  by  her  Majesty,  the  Queen,  for 
my  Lord  Burleigh's  children.  A  monstrous  di- 
verting game  surely,  and  an  easy,  if  one  would 
only  remember  to  offer  for  sale  what  he  hath  his 
hand  upon.  But  though  Master  Will  Shake- 
speare had  been  the  first  to  bring  the  sport  into 
Stratford,  he  was  ever  forgetting  its  rules,  so  that 
he  forfeited  much,  yet  right  bravely  did  he  re- 
deem all  the  fines.  There  was  no  undertaking  so 
hard  that  he  was  not  willing  to  try  to  compass  it 
and  was  no  whit  disturbed  by  the  merriment  his 
efforts  evoked. 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       219 

It  coming  at  last  to  Judith  to  set  him  some  task, 
she  was  e'en  for  making  him  dance,  whereupon, 
knowing  how  fond  she  was  of  footing  it,  he  pro- 
posed they  should  have  '  Sellenger's  Round,' 
and  before  they  could  say  him  nay  he  walked 
him  up  to  his  mother  and,  with  his  hand  upon  his 
heart,  bowed  in  right  courtly  fashion  and  led 
her  forth  to  her  place,  saluting  her  with  a  kiss. 
In  a  twinkling  Ham  net  had  sought  out  Mistress 
Anne  Shakespeare,  while  the  others  paired  off  as 
quickly.  Then  the  couples  all  joined  hands  and 
went  round  twice  and  back  again  and  in  and  out 
with  a  succession  of  figures  to  vary  the  circular 
movement,  and  because  there  were  no  fiddlers 
present  they  all  did  sing,  '  The  Beginning  of  the 
World,'  which  is  a  sweet  and  gracious  tune,  and 
the  one  always  associated  with  that  dance.  When 
it  was  over,  each  must  confess  that  'twas  the  best 
sport  that  had  yet  been  devised,  and  so  with 
courtesies  and  kisses  they  took  leave  of  their 
partners. 

And  then,  because  the  day  was  waning  and  the 
little  sadness  that  is  ever  lurking  in  the  air  at 
such  times  had  crept  over  them  —  only  not  un- 
pleasantly— the  gay  shouts  and  laughter  subsid- 
ed and  in  their  stead  someone  started  a  song. 
'Twas  Mistress  Anne  Shakespeare  in  a  voice  as 
true  and  sweet  as  the  skylark's,  and  as  it  rose  and 
fell  in  the  strains  of  the  melody,  each  one  listening 


22O        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

knew  that  this  was  best  after  all ;  the  music  so 
suited  the  golden  peace  about  them.  At  her  will 
they  all  joined  in  with  the  burden,  and  after  that 
they  sang  some  simple  old  madrigals  and  then 
'Joan,  come  Kiss  me  Now,'  one  of  the  most  fa- 
vourite airs  in  the  Queen's  virginal  book,  and 
rightly  so,  for  'twas  as  sweet  a  little  tune  as  ever 
was  thought  on  and  full  of  tenderness.  And  anon 
followed  '  Joan's  Placket '  and  '  Green  Sleeves  ' 
for  Ned's  sake,  and  '  Constant  Susanna,'  just  to 
tease  Sue,  and  many  another  ballad,  while  to 
please  the  little  lads — Tom  Quiney  and  Hum- 
phrey— there  was  King  Harry's  hunting-song, 
the  one  that  goes  : 

'  Blow  thy  horn,  hunter, 

Blow  thy  horn  on  high  ; 
In  yonder  wood  there  lieth  a  doe 
In  faith  she  will  not  die. 
Then  blow  thy  horn,  hunter, 
Then  blow  thy  horn,  hunter, 
Then  blow  thy  horn,  jolly  hunter.' 

At  its  close,  when  they  all  paused  out  of  breath, 
laughing  and  wondering  what  they  should  sing 
next,  young  Mistress  Kate — with  a  sly  look  at 
Master  William  Shakespeare — started  a  song  that 
began  in  this  wise :  '  You  spotted  snakes,  with 
double  tongue,'  and  when  she  had  finished  the 
verse  they  all,  with  one  exception,  took  up  the 
chorus : 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       221 

'  Philomel,  with  melody 
Sing  in  our  sweet  lullaby  ; 
Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby  ;  lulla,  lulla,  lullaby ; 
Never  harm,  nor  spell  nor  charm, 
Come  our  lovely  lady  nigh  ; 
So,  good-night,  with  lullaby.' 

In  faith,  though  it  was  a  passing  sweet  song, 
'twas  a  luckless  one  to  light  upon  with  a  careful 
grandmother  in  the  company  (as  anyone  should 
have  known !),  for  as  soon  as  the  two  verses  were 
sung  she  needs  must  get  to  her  feet  and  counsel 
them  to  hasten  home.  And  when  they  all  pro- 
tested, she  stood  firm  and  spoke  right  round- 
ly, though  laughter  still  lingered  in  her  gentle 
tones : 

"  La,  Will,  la,  Nan,  I  marvel  at  your  wayward- 
ness— you  be  worse  than  the  children.  Hark  ye, 
both,  an  we  start  not  soon  'twill  be  curfew-time 
before  we  know  it." 

Curfew-time !  Hamnet,  leaning  against  his 
father's  shoulder,  his  face  flushed  and  bright  with 
happiness,  started  away  from  the  pleasant  rest- 
ing-place, a  shudder  passing  through  his  frame 
despite  himself,  as  if  some  current  of  air,  or  some 
grim  sense  of  approaching  ill  had  caused  him  to 
fall  a-trembling.  His  hour  of  pleasure  was  over 
and  already  the  night  had  come ! 

That  vague  shaking  and  the  sudden  whiteness 
of  the  small  countenance  were  enough  to  spur 


222        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

Will  Shakespeare  from  his  lazy  loitering.  In  an 
instant  he  was  on  his  feet,  stung  by  the  fear  that 
the  boy  had  in  some  way  caught  a  chill  and  up- 
braiding himself  for  his  own  lack  of  foresight — 
the  little  lad  was  overheated  from  dancing  when 
they  sat  down  and  —  Why  less  than  that  had 
brought  about  a  man's  death  —  Death!  why 
should  he  ever  be  harping  on  that  grim  theme  ? 
He  put  the  thought  from  him  resolutely,  and  mar- 
shalled the  young  people  together  more  anxiously 
than  even  his  mother  could  have  done,  and  drove 
them  laughingly  before  him,  still  keeping  Ham- 
net  at  his  side  and  bearing  six-year-old  Humphrey 
aloft  on  his  shoulder. 

Down  the  hill  and  through  the  meadows,  sing- 
ing all  the  way,  went  the  happy  band,  Ned's 
voice  this  time  leading  the  song.  And  now  he 
sang:  'When  icicles  hang  by  the  wall' — and 
even  the  owls  waking  from  their  day-long  sleep 
must  have  thought  that  some  foolish  brother  of 
theirs  was  abroad  before  the  primrose  had  died 
out  of  the  west,  so  exactly  did  the  youth  imitate 
the  merry  note — '  To-who,  tu-whit,  to-who.'  And 
anon  he  sang :  '  The  ousel  cock  so  black  of  hue,' 
and  waited  for  Hamnet  to  take  up  the  throstle's 
song  with  its  high,  sweet  warble,  which  none 
could  do  better  than  he.  The  little  lad,  however, 
was  in  no  mood  for  singing,  and  so  the  rest,  miss- 
ing his  clear  notes,  must  do  without  him. 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       223 

Then  did  Mistress  Anne  begin  '  Who  is  Sil- 
via?' but  none  would  join  in  with  her;  she  must 
sing  the  song  from  start  to  finish  by  herself,  in 
that  pure  voice  of  hers  that  thrilled  them  all  in- 
effably, and  when  she  had  come  to  an  end  a  spirit 
of  quietness  settled  upon  them,  as  if  for  a  time 
at  least,  no  other  music  was  worthy  to  be  sung. 

So  they  pushed  on,  saying  naught,  until  Susanna 
bethought  her  of  some  riddles  from  the  book  at 
home,  and  fell  to  asking  them  of  everyone.  'Twas 
passing  strange  how  they  would  all  cry  that  they 
could  tell,  and  then,  when  they  were  put  to  it, 
how  they  failed.  There  are  only  a  few  things  in 
this  world  as  slippery  as  a  riddle's  answer — 'tis 
here,  'tis  there — and  yet  'tis  gone  when  one  seeks 
to  grasp  it  even  for  a  moment.  'Twas  small  won- 
der, then,  that  Susanna  should  be  called  upon  to 
reply  to  her  own  questions  and  should  chide  them 
for  their  lack  of  wit.  Judith,  too,  was  ready  with 
her  favourite  riddle : 

'  My  lover's  will 
I  am  content  for  to  fulfill ; 
Within  this  rime  his  name  is  framed, 
Tell  me  then  how  he  is  named  ?  ' 

Only,  having  little  respect  for  their  abilities, 
she  would  not  give  anyone  a  chance  to  speak, 
but  shouted  out  the  solution  in  a  high,  trium- 
phant voice : 


224        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

"  His  name  is  William ;  for  in  the  first  line  is 
Will,  and  in  the  beginning  of  the  second  line  is 
/  am,  and  then  put  them  both  together,  and  it 
maketh  William" 

In  this  way  the  door  of  their  mirth  was  once 
more  set  ajar  and  the  fun  and  jollity  broke  forth 
again. 

All  too  soon  Tom  Combe  was  forced  to  halt, 
and  after  bidding  them  good-night  and  taking 
leave  of  Master  Shakespeare  and  Ned,  who  would 
be  away  betimes  in  the  morning,  he  darted  off  to 
his  home.  Katharine  Rogers  was  the  next  to 
drop  out  of  the  little  company  as  they  came  to 
her  door  in  High  Street.  There  was  more  than 
a  trace  of  sadness  in  her  glance  and  in  her  heart 
as  she  bade  Ned  good-by,  and  wished  him  a 
happy  dole  in  London  town,  while  a  note  of  re- 
gret crept  into  her  voice  as  she  said  farewell  to 
the  man. 

He  glanced  at  her  upraised,  winsome  face, 
grown  suddenly  grave  with  the  chill  of  separa- 
tion. 

"  Nay,  sweet  maid,"  he  said,  cheerily,  "  look  not 
so  cast  down;  to  be  merry  best  becometh  thee. 
We'll  have  many  goodly  walks  and  talks  together 
yet,  I  trow." 

She  clung  to  his  hand  tremulously,  not  trusting 
herself  to  speak,  then  with  a  quick  kiss  on  Ham- 
net's  cheek  she  turned  away. 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       225 

A  few  minutes  later  Ursula  and  Humphrey — 
the  latter  half  asleep — were  given  over  to  their 
parents  in  Bridge  Street,  and  after  that  it  was 
but  a  short  distance  to  the  home  in  Henley  Street, 
and  only  a  step  or  so  beyond  to  the  Quineys' 
house  whither  little  Tom  disappeared  in  a  trice 
with  a  noisy  whoop  at  parting.  The  others  lin- 
gered in  the  Shakespeare  garden,  reluctant  to  go 
within-doors.  The  sun  had  set,  but  the  sky  was 
radiant  with  the  after-glow;  little  rosy,  golden 
clouds  were  floating  hither  and  thither  in  the 
soft  ether,  like  the  wind-loosened  leaves  of  some 
wondrous  heaven-born  flower. 

Susanna  leaned  her  cheek  against  her  father's 
arm. 

"  It  hath  been  a  brave,  brave  day,"  she  cried, 
with  happy  eyes.  "  Canst  tell  what  is  my 
thought?" 

"  I  pray  thee  what,  my  little  riddlemonger?" 

"  F  faith  I  have  had  my  heart's  content,"  she 
whispered. 

He  touched  her  bright  hair  tenderly. 

"  Say'st  thou  so,  sweet  rose  o'  May  ?  Marry, 
I'll  let  thee  into  a  secret — bend  thine  ear  close. 
Methinks  I  must  borrow  me  thy  phrase  an  I 
would  speak  the  truth " 

"  Hark  !  "    Judith    interrupted,   "  there's    that 
same  whistle  I  heard  this  noon.     I  marvel  now 
what  it  may  mean — 'tis  passing  strange." 
15 


226         Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

There  was  a  cessation  of  the  light  talk  and 
laughter  at  the  child's  request,  and  on  the  soft 
air  there  was  borne  to  the  listening  group  two 
long,  shrill  notes.  Judith  stood  half  turned  in  the 
direction  whence  the  sound  had  come,  her  hand 
raised,  compelling  silence.  In  the  short  interval 
of  quiet  no  one  spoke,  then  the  notes  were  re- 
peated, and  again  there  was  a  short  pause  which 
was  followed  by  a  cuckoo's  call. 

"  'Tis  hard  by,"  Ned  said,  indifferently  ;  "  belike 
'tis  some  signal.  That's  all,  mouse,  thou  canst 
read  no  mystery  therein.  Some  boys  are  e'en  off 
for  a  frolic " 

"  It  seemeth  to  say, '  Remember — remember — '  " 
Judith  persisted. 

"  Why,  that's  a  signal's  meaning  any  way," 
Ned  laughed  ;  "  'tis  to  stir  someone's  memory." 


CHAPTER   XV 

0  Conspiracy  ! 

Sham'st  thou  to  show  thy  dangerous  brow  by  night, 
When  evils  are  most  free  ?    O,  then,  by  day 
Where  wilt  thou  find  a  cavern  dark  enough 
To  mask  thy  monstrous  visage  ? 

JULIUS  C/ESAR. 

If  hearty  sorrow 

Be  a  sufficient  ransom  for  offence, 
I  tender  it  here ;  I  do  as  truly  suffer 
As  e'er  I  did  commit. 

Two  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 

IT  was  growing  late  and  the  candle  was  burn- 
ing low,  though  Mistress  Mary  Shakespeare 
had  still  a  number  of  last  stitches  to  set 
in  Ned's  new  turned  doublet.  Her  daughter-in- 
law,  from  a  near-by  seat,  watched  the  slender  fin- 
gers draw  the  thread  in  and  out  surely,  for  all  that 
they  trembled  occasionally,  and  sought  to  divert 
the  mother's  anxious  heart  with  gentle  gossip. 
The  men-folk  were  away  at  the  Swan,  for  Will 
Shakespeare  would  not  hear  of  going  there  that 
last  night  save  in  his  father's  company,  and  so 
had  over-ruled  the  old  man's  opposition  and  had 
borne  him  thither  in  triumph  to  meet  their  friends 
and  neighbours. 

227 


228        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

Above-stairs  the  little  girls  were  fast  asleep  in 
their  room,  and  in  the  loft  over  their  heads  Ned 
moved  noiselessly  to  and  fro  as  he  busied  himself 
with  taking  the  neatly  folded  articles  from  the 
chest  his  mother  had  fondly  packed  that  day  and 
which  was  going  by  carrier's  cart  to  London. 
He  was  not  minded  to  go  to  bed,  for  in  truth  he 
was  far  from  sleepy,  but  he  was  in  no  mood  for 
companionship  of  any  sort.  Despite  the  fact  that 
his  cherished  dream  was  shortly  to  be  realized,  his 
heart  was  uncomfortably  near  his  throat.  He  was 
already  experiencing  his  first  taste  of  homesick- 
ness before  ever  he  had  left  his  home.  He  had  bade 
all  his  friends  farewell,  and  though  he  knew  they 
envied  him  his  good  fortune,  he  had  a  dozen  minds 
to  change  it  with  them.  Not  that  he  regretted 
leaving  them  overmuch ;  it  was  the  parting  on  the 
morrow  from  his  own  home-people  that  cast  its 
shadow  over  the  warm-natured,  simple  fellow  and 
filled  him  with  a  vague  uneasiness.  By  and  by, 
when  he  had  conquered  the  feeling,  he  meant  to 
steal  down  to  the  street  and  sally  forth.  Perhaps 
he  might  find  some  of  his  mates  at  the  Swan  lis- 
tening to  the  talk  of  the  elders,  and  a  game  of 
shove-groat  would  do  much  to  dispel  his  sadness. 

Meanwhile  he  bent  over  the  chest  and  took  out 
his  few  belongings  and  arranged  them  different- 
ly, whistling  softly  over  his  self-appointed  task 
and  trying  by  that  means  to  call  back  his  man's 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       229 

spirit.  Several  times  he  glanced  around  at  the 
bed  which  Hamnet  was  wont  to  share  with  him, 
but  the  little  fellow  was  not  there.  Edmund 
strongly  suspected  that  he  had  stolen  away  and 
was,  even  then,  standing  without  the  Swan,  bend- 
ing close  to  the  red-lattice  in  order  to  catch  the 
sound  of  a  certain  voice  within  raised  in  some 
goodly  tale.  Of  a  truth,  Ned  had  no  wish  to 
play  the  master  and  send  the  little  lad  home. 
Let  him  stay  there  an  he  would  !  Why,  even 
the  women  below-stairs  would  wink  at  the  boy's 
wrong-doing,  could  they  but  guess  it,  knowing 
why  he  waited  and  what  the  passing  moments 
meant  to  him.  The  youth's  heart  was  full  of  an 
unusual  tenderness  for  his  nephew,  and  though 
he  was  never  one  to  weigh  his  own  thoughts  nor 
to  give  much  importance  to  them,  he  could  not 
but  think  how  he  should  feel  were  he  in  the 
child's  stead,  and  sympathy  sharpened  his  per- 
ceptions. 

Hamnet,  however,  was  not  in  Bridge  Street, 
nor  had  he  had  any  intention  of  going  thither. 
Lingering  near  taverns  and  ale-houses  had  been 
prohibited  and  the  lad  had  no  mind  to  vio- 
late even  the  least  of  his  father's  commands.  He 
was  hiding  in  a  far  corner  of  the  dark  attic,  fight- 
ing with  himself,  and  with  the  wish  that  grew 
ever  stronger  within  him  to  withhold  the  message 
altogether  from  Ned.  And  yet,  insistent  as  that 


230        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

longing  was,  he  felt  that  it  was  too  late  to  admit 
any  scruples  of  regret  into  his  consideration ; 
they  should  have  been  thought  of  before  he  had 
voluntarily  joined  in  the  conspiracy  against  his 
uncle's  happiness.  Say  he  forgave  Ned  every- 
thing, the  blow  to  Silver,  the  cruel  words  ut- 
tered in  the  garden,  the  crueller  words  which 
Diccon  had  repeated  and  even  the  way  he  meant 
to  oust  him,  Hamnet,  from  his  rightful  place  in 
his  father's  heart,  say  he  forgave  all  that,  forgot 
all  that.  What  still  remained?  A  boy's  promise 
— a  boy's  word — something  which  could  not  be 
lightly  broken,  something  which  must  stand  as 
steady  and  true  as  the  Queen's  oath. 

The  suffering  little  soul  was  full  of  agony  as 
the  warfare  within  his  breast  went  on  without 
cessation.  Which  was  right,  which  was  right — 
he  asked  himself  again  and  again — to  keep  his 
word,  or  to  save  Ned  ?  They  could  not  both  be 
right.  Which  course  should  he  follow  ?  On  the 
instant  there  came  to  him  a  phrase  his  father  had 
uttered :  '  Let  it  never  be  said  o'  my  little  lad 
that  he  is  a  promise-breaker.' 

Like  a  drowning  man  catching  at  a  straw  the 
boy  caught  at  this  remembrance  now  and  turned 
it  into  an  argument  for  his  own  conduct.  In  the 
absence  of  any  guidance  he  must  act  upon  this 
advice  and  keep  his  honour  unsmirched.  It  was 
the  flimsiest  kind  of  reasoning,  but  the  child, 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       231 

troubled  and  sore  distraught,  hesitated  no  longer. 
His  hand  sought  the  paper  in  his  bosom  and 
drew  it  forth,  twisting  it  noiselessly  into  the  form 
of  a  ball ;  the  next  moment  it  whizzed  into  the 
room  past  the  kneeling  youth  and  fell  just  before 
him  into  the  open  chest. 

Ned,  startled  from  his  reverie,  looked  around 
quickly,  half  expecting  to  see  his  nephew  or  some 
friend  who  had  stolen  softly  up  the  stair  to  sur- 
prise him  at  his  work,  but  there  was  no  one  in 
sight  and  the  silence  all  about  was  unbroken.  He 
laughed  outright  at  his  folly,  and  yet,  surely, 
there  had  been  something  to  disturb  him — some 
sound — some —  His  wandering  glance  rested  on 
the  crumpled  wad  which,  partially  opened  by  its 
fall,  was  lying  upon  his  clothes.  So,  he  had  been 
asleep  after  all  and  this  thing  had  waked  him  ; 
somebody  had  crawled  up  to  leave  the  message 
and  had  gone  as  quietly ;  he  did  not  puzzle  himself 
to  guess  the  person's  identity,  but  opened  the  pa- 
per eagerly  and  held  it  to  the  light.  There  were 
only  a  few  words  scribbled  in  a  hasty  hand,  un- 
known, yet  still  with  a  strange  hint  of  familiarity 
in  some  of  the  letters. 

"  Marry,"  he  cried,  half  aloud,  "  I'm  bidden  to 
Sanctity  Lane  near  the  sally-piece  by  nine  o'  the 
clock  to  learn  summat  o'  import  before  I  go  to 
London,  and  the  mad  wag  who  hath  writ  this  hath 
put  no  mark  nor  sign  to  let  me  know  who  he  is 


232         Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

withal.  Ha — ha,  Phil  Rogers,  'tis  thy  hand  1 
swear,  thou  canst  not  trick  me,  my  sweet  rogue. 
Now  what  wild  sport  art  up  to,  eh  ?  F  faith  I 
will  not  go — i'  faith  I  will,  though !  My  very  last 
night  in  Stratford  town  I'll  e'en  be  one  wi'  the 
lads  i'  their  pranks.  'Twill  help  to  do  away  wi' 
this  heaviness,  I  warrant  me." 

He  scrambled  up  from  the  side  of  the  chest 
leaving  the  clothes  strewn  in  disorder  on  the 
floor  and  extinguished  the  candle,  then  he  stum- 
bled down  the  stairs.  Hamnet  drew  back  into 
the  deeper  gloom  as  his  uncle  hurried  by;  the 
next  moment  he  crept  cautiously  after  him. 

The  living-room  was  deserted,  for  the  two 
women  had  stepped  over  to  Neighbour  Quiney's 
for  a  brief  word  with  his  good  wife,  and  Ned  just 
paused  long  enough  on  its  threshold  to  cast  a 
glance  at  the  clock  whose  hands  pointed  to  past 
the  hour,  before  he  hastened  into  the  street  and 
plunged  forward  whistling  gayly. 

The  summer  night  was  dusky  but  not  dark; 
there  was  no  moon,  and  the  stars  had  a  faint, 
far-away  shining  about  their  splendour  as  if  they 
had  little  love  for  the  earth  and  what  went  on 
there.  A  soft,  white  mist  had  risen  from  the 
river  and  floated  between  the  trees  and  bushes 
like  a  filmy  veil  which  lent  an  air  of  remoteness 
to  their  familiar  shapes.  Hamnet  crawled  into 
the  shadow  of  the  garden-wall  and  peered  into 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       233 

the  street,  following  with  eyes  which  almost  re- 
fused to  do  their  office  the  tall,  well-knit  figure 
moving  ever  on  into  the  gloom.  How  quickly 
Ned  went,  almost  as  if  he  had  wings.  Would 
nothing  stay  him — could  nothing  stay  him  ?  The 
little  lad  shivered  in  sudden  apprehension  as  the 
answer  to  that  unspoken  question  flashed  into  his 
mind.  Ay,  go  thy  ways,  Ned  Shakespeare,  an 
thou  tread'st  never  so  lightly,  and  whistl'st  never 
so  sweetly,  there's  somewhat  waiting  for  thee  in 
Sanctity  Lane  that  shall  cry  halt  to  those  brisk 
steps  and  peace  to  that  merry  tune. 

Hamnet  ran  out  into  the  centre  of  the  street. 
He  had  kept  his  word — his  honour  was  white — 
and  yet  the  greatness  of  the  wrong  he  had  just 
committed  overwhelmed  him  with  a  terrible  feel- 
ing of  horror.  How  could  he  bear  to  defeat 
Ned's  hopes?  How  could  he  bear  to  have  him 
suffer?  For  suffer  he  would,  and  that  most  fear- 
fully ;  his  captors  would  know  no  mercy.  Words 
of  warning,  words  of  love  and  tenderness  leaped 
to  the  child's  lips,  and  he  was  powerless  to  utter 
the  least  of  them.  He  stood  there  speechless, 
looking,  listening,  trying  with  all  his  might  to 
call,  but  the  shout  was  the  veriest  whisper,  and 
he  could  only  murmur  with  sobbing  breath: 

"  Ned,  Ned,  come  back,  I  cry  thee  pardon, 
come  back ! " 

And  Ned,  speeding  on,  heard  naught. 


234        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

Hamnet  remained  in  the  same  spot  like  one 
turned  to  stone,  while  that  whistle  grew  faint 
and  fainter.  How  long  he  stood  there  tongue- 
tied — helpless,  he  never  knew.  It  seemed  ages  to 
him  ;  in  reality  it  was  but  a  few  minutes,  though 
each  one  in  passing  lengthened  itself  out  indefi- 
nitely to  his  tortured  mind  ;  and  still  he  was  inca- 
pable of  moving — incapable  of  thinking  even. 
Suddenly  a  thought  pierced  its  way  to  his  be- 
numbed brain — he  must  save  Ned  !  In  a  second, 
as  if  a  door  had  been  set  wide,  there  followed 
a  host  of  rushing,  half-formed  ideas ;  he  must 
overtake  him,  reach  the  appointed  place  before 
him,  help  him  in  what  fray  there  was,  come  off 
victorious,  or  be  borne  away,  too,  down-stream 
without  another  word  from  father.  He  could 
not  hold  back  now. 

He  darted  swiftly  on  over  the  way  Ned  had 
travelled,  but  though  he  ran  his  fleetest,  he  could 
catch  no  glimpse  of  the  figure  he  sought,  nor 
hear  no  least  sound  that  would  indicate  his  pres- 
ence. It  was  just  possible  that  the  youth  had 
paused  at  one  of  the  taverns  to  see  if  any  of  his 
friends  were  there  who  would  bear  him  company, 
but  Hamnet  could  not  tarry  in  his  turn.  The 
town  was  very  still.  The  houses  he  passed  were, 
for  the  most  part,  dark  and  quiet,  though  here 
and  there  a  lighted  casement  flung  a  patch  of 
brightness  out  over  the  ground.  An  occasional 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       235 

burst  of  jollity  issued  faintly  through  the  red- 
latticed  screens  of  the  ale-houses  lying  along  the 
way,  and  in  the  distance,  moving  along  slowly, 
he  caught  the  glimmer  of  the  horn-lantern  carried 
by  the  watch.  He  slipped  more  into  the  shadow 
and  sped  on  warily.  'Twould  be  a  sorry  thing 
to  have  the  watch  clap  a  detaining  hand  upon  his 
shoulder  and  walk  him  off  to  the  Town  Cage,  or 
to  the  stocks.  The  little  lad  had  a  vague  notion 
of  the  swiftness  of  justice;  he  knew  something  of 
the  strictness  of  the  law  which  required  that  all 
apprentices  and  servants,  found  in  the  streets 
after  nine  o'clock,  should  be  summarily  dealt 
with,  and  he  felt  that  the  same  treatment  would 
be  meted  out  to  any  and  every  straggler. 

It  occurred  to  him  on  the  moment  that  Ned, 
wishing  to  avoid  the  watch,  had  taken  the  other 
road,  which  was  longer,  but  which  was  rarely  used 
after  dark  and  so  escaped  vigilance  except  of  the 
most  transitory  nature.  The  thought  put  new 
force  into  his  flying  feet ;  he  dashed  forward,  his 
heart  beating  in  his  ears  like  a  smith's  hammer, 
his  breath  coming  in  great  gasps.  So  running,  he 
came  at  last  to  Sanctity  Lane,  and  turning  away 
from  the  church  with  its  brooding  air  of  peace, 
he  started  up  toward  the  willow  plantation. 

There  was  no  one  stirring  in  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  lane  but  himself;  the  stillness 
round  about  was  so  deep  that  it  filled  the  boy 


236        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

with  an  overwhelming  sense  of  fear.  Suddenly 
it  was  broken  by  a  succession  of  loud,  uncanny 
cries.  Some  of  the  Trinity  rooks — those  same 
rooks  that  were  so  monstrously  well-behaved  o' 
Sundays,  and  were  ever  setting  an  example  of 
quietness  to  the  lads — cawed  right  lustily  among 
the  trees,  and  one  of  them  whirred  with  a  tre- 
mendous fluttering  of  his  wings  into  the  air,  and 
circled  above  his  nest  before  swooping  down 
again,  his  clamour  dying  away  into  a  silence 
which  was  all  the  more  awful  for  the  lack  of  the 
strident  noise. 

Hamnet  felt  the  earth  totter  beneath  his  feet. 
He  was  too  late !  What  was  to  happen  in  Sanc- 
tity Lane  had  happened,  and  only  the  rooks  were 
the  wiser.  He  took  a  step  forward  with  a  faint 
gasp  of  horror,  and  just  then  from  the  distance 
on  his  left  there  came  a  sound  that  made  his 
brain  reel.  He  paused  and  raised  his  head, 
straining  his  ears  to  listen.  The  sound  came  a 
little  nearer  —  he  could  not  mistake  it — he — it — 
His  heart  leaped  for  very  joy !  It  was  Ned's 
whistle — he'd  swear  to  it  anywhere  ;  no  one  in  all 
the  world  could  whistle  '  Green  Sleeves '  like 
Ned!  Now,  God  be  praised!  he  was  still  in 
time. 

With  a  great  bound  he  reached  the  low  line  of 
underbrush  that  formed  a  hedge  at  one  side  of  the 
way ;  there  he  halted  and  gave  vent  to  two  soft, 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       237 

shrill  notes;  he  paused  and  counted  three  (how 
could  he  bear  to  pause  even  for  that  brief  space 
when  that  merry  music  was  coming  ever  nearer?) 
— he  repeated  the  notes  and  then,  while  the 
cuckoo's  call  was  still  vibrating  on  the  air,  he 
called  out  sharply  :  "  London!" 

There  was  a  long  moment  of  silence — of  sus- 
pense— before  a  gruff  voice  almost  at  his  elbow 
answered  :  "  Father." 

"  Quick,"  Hamnet  cried,  "  away  wi'  ye  !  This 
work  may  not  be  done  to-night  nor  any  other 
time." 

"  Thou'st  played  us  false,"  Diccon  hissed,  "  but 
an  thine  uncle  gets  off  wi'  a  whole  skin  the  same 
shall  not  be  said  o'  thee." 

Hamnet  sprang  beyond  the  reach  of  the  ex- 
tended arm.  The  rippling  melody  of  '  Green 
Sleeves  '  was  growing  each  instant  more  distinct 
— but  hark !  from  that  other  direction  there  came 
the  murmur  of  voices  and  look — look — a  gleam 
of  light,  like  some  little  heaven-born  star  droop- 
ing low  to  earth. 

"  Thou  shalt  reckon  wi'  me  as  thou  wilt  anon," 
he  whispered,  "  but  get  thee  gone  now.  Canst 
thou  not  hear  the  watch  ?  Nay,  I  speak  the  very 
truth — see  for  thyself." 

"  The  watch !  the  watch  ! "  Wat  Cawdrey  cried, 
"  I'll  na  be  caught  here  and  set  i'  the  stocks  for 
three  days  running  for  all  the  Ned  Shakespeares 


238        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

i'  the  world.     Let  go  thy  hold,  Diccon  Hobday, 
thou  shalt  na  be  off  first." 

There  was  a  hurried  scuffle  in  the  bushes,  and 
the  next  instant  three  dark  figures  fled  out  of  the 
cover.  Hamnet  caught  a  glimpse  of  them  as  they 
scurried  across  a  bit  of  open  before  they  gained 
the  shadow  of  the  thicket  beyond.  At  that  mo- 
ment a  group  of  men,  one  of  them  swinging  a 
lantern,  turned  from  Bull  Lane  into  Sanctity.  It 
was  not  the  watch,  however,  but  merely  a  few 
neighbours  returning  late  from  some  pastime, 
though  the  boy,  supposing  them  to  be  the  guar- 
dians of  the  peace,  had  given  the  alarm  in  good 
faith.  As  they  neared  his  hiding-place  in  the 
underbrush,  where  he  had  hastily  concealed  him- 
self,  he  recognized  from  snatches  of  their  conver- 
sation that  they  were  Puritans,  who  had  met  in  all 
likelihood  at  the  other  end  of  the  town  to  worship 
with  their  fellows,  and  were  even  then  separating 
for  the  night.  He  could  hear  their  pious  utter- 
ances as  they  commended  one  another  to  the 
Lord's  keeping.  They  passed  close  to  the  little 
lad,  not  noticing  him,  nor  did  they  pay  any  heed 
to  the  merry  whistler  who  sped  now  in  full  sight 
diagonally  across  the  open  lands  to  the  lane  itself, 
thinking  him,  doubtless,  some  roisterer  who  had 
taken  more  than  his  fill  of  ale,  and  with  whom  it 
were  well  to  have  naught  to  do.  They  raised 
their  voices  in  a  solemn  hymn  to  drown  the  gay, 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       239 

ungodly  tune  and  so,  singing,  they  went  their 
different  ways. 

As  Ned  reached  the  bushes  Hamnet  rushed  out 
upon  him.  He  had  formed  no  clear  idea  in  his 
mind  of  what  he  should  say  or  do.  To  him  his 
uncle  was  only  safe  for  the  moment.  Diccon  and 
his  companions  had  retreated  but  a  short  dis- 
tance, and  if  they  were  hiding  in  the  woods  they 
might  return  as  soon  as  the  Puritans  were  out  of 
hearing ;  they  would  recognize  them  as  readily 
from  their  speech  as  he  had  done.  He  caught 
the  young  fellow's  arm  in  his  trembling  hands. 

"  Get  hence,  Ned,  get  hence,"  he  whispered, 
"  'twas  I  that  brought  thee  hither.  Nay,  tarry 
not  an  instant ;  there's  grievous  harm  hard-by." 

"  Thou,  Hamnet,  what  mak'st  thou  here  ?  thou, 
little  lad " 

"  Ay,  no  one  else,"  the  boy  sobbed,  trying  to 
push  the  youth  with  a  strength  which  on  the  sud- 
den had  grown  of  no  avail.  "  Look  not  so  sor- 
rowfully—  look  angerly  —  chide  me —  I  would 
have  stayed  thy  going  wi'  father,  and  so  I  took 
counsel  o'  them  that  would  help  me." 

Ned  shook  himself  free  from  the  hold  of  the 
clinging  figure,  stung  by  his  nephew's  admission. 
As  far  as  he  himself  was  concerned,  he  had  no 
fear  of  any  foes,  but  for  this  self-confessed  one 
of  his  own  household — this  one  who  had  been  a 
traitor — he  could  find  no  outlet  for  his  scorn. 


240        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

"Tis  a  pity,"  he  sneered,  after  a  moment,  "  that 
thy  heart  should  fail  thee,  thou  unworthiest  vil- 
lain, thou  that  canst  be  steadfast  to  no  single 
thing!" 

"  Upbraid  me  an  thou  wilt,  I  deserve  no  less," 
Hamnet  interrupted,  "  but  tarry  not,  tarry  not, 
else  will  they  come  back.  I  would  not  have 
thee  stayed — I  sent  them  off — I  said  the  watch 
was  nigh." 

His  fast-coming  sobs  almost  choked  back  the 
rushing  words.  "  Oh  !  at  the  last  I  wanted  thee 
to  go  wi'  father — i'  faith  I  did — i'  faith  I  do — 
'Twas  only  that  I'd  given  my  promise  when  I 
was  wroth  wi'  thee — I  cry  thee  pardon — I —  Oh  ! 
get  thee  hence — I " 

Something  in  the  tired,  gasping  voice  found  its 
way  to  Ned's  heart  and  made  him  acutely  con- 
scious of  many  things  besides  his  own  angry  feel- 
ings. In  a  second  he  realized  what  it  had  cost 
Hamnet  to  give  up  his  revenge.  The  night  run 
with  its  hidden,  imaginary  dangers,  more  awful  to 
the  child  than  any  of  the  harsh  certainties  of  day 
— dark  though  they  might  be — was  nothing  in 
comparison  with  the  struggle  which  must  have 
gone  on  in  his  breast.  He  seemed  sore  spent 
and  the  lifted,  pleading  face  showed  ghastly  in 
the  surrounding  gloom.  Compassion  softened 
Ned's  eyes  ;  he  put  out  his  hand  with  a  good- 
humoured  laugh. 


Hamnet  caught  the  outstretched  hand  and  pressed  his  face  against  it. 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       241 

"  Nay,  little  lad,"  he  said,  "  we'll  bury  all  ill-will 
here,  and  so  let's  go  home  together.  In  sooth, 
thou'lt  be  roundly  shent  by  thy  mother  and  mine 
own  an  they  do  but  see  thee.  Come  !  I'll  save 
thee  a  rating  for  this  last  time,  peradventure  we 
may  steal  to  bed  wi'out  their  knowledge." 

Hamnet  caught  the  outstretched  hand  in  his 
eager  grasp  and  pressed  his  face  against  it,  kiss- 
ing it  again  and  again  and  caring  naught  that  his 
tears  were  falling  fast.  They  were  such  happy 
tears — for  were  not  Ned  and  he  friends — was  not 
Ned  safe  ? 


CHAPTER  XVI 

0,  nature  !  what  hadst  thou  to  do  in  hell, 
When  thou  didst  bower  the  spirit  of  a  fiend 
In  mortal  paradise  of  such  sweet  flesh  ?— 
Was  ever  book  containing  such  vile  matter 
So  fairly  bound  ?   O,  that  deceit  should  dwell 
In  such  a  gorgeous  palace  ! 

ROMEO  AND  JULIET. 

We  do  pray  for  mercy  ; 

And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us  all  to  render 
The  deeds  of  mercy. 

MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

THE  night  brought  only  troubled  slumber  to 
the  little  lad,  black  dreams  from  which  he 
wakened  with  a  start  to  sob  and  sob  again 
softly  to  himself  as  he  relived  their  terrors  and 
then  found  peace  and  reassurance  in  the  sound  of 
Ned's  contented  breathing.  It  was  a  satisfaction, 
at  such  moments,  simply  to  put  out  his  hand  and 
touch  his  uncle's  arm,  clinging  to  him  gently  as 
if  his  hold  could  save  him  in  his  unconsciousness 
from  untold  dangers.  Waking  or  sleeping  there 
was  ever  the  fear  that  Diccon  would  in  some  way 
sweep  down  to  his  revenge  and  bear  the  unre- 
sisting youth  off  to  that  hut  in  the  fields,  there 

242 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       243 

to  keep  him  in  hiding  till  time  should  be  no 
more. 

The  first  grey  stirrings  of  dawn,  creeping  in 
through  the  chinks  of  the  tiny  window,  looked 
into  the  wide-opened  hazel  eyes,  and  at  its  glance 
some  of  the  unreasoning  alarm  in  the  boy's  breast 
was  dispelled.  It  was  day  at  last.  He  crawled 
out  of  bed  noiselessly.  Usually  he  slept  on  the  in- 
ner side,  but  Ned  had  humoured  his  request  the 
night  before,  and  had  changed  places  with  the  lit- 
tle fellow,  not  knowing  that  the  small  figure  was 
interposed  as  a  barrier  between  him  and  the  vague 
apprehensions  conjured  up  by  the  child's  fancy. 

Hamnet  tip-toed  across  the  room  to  the  corner 
where  a  little  coffer  stood  in  which  he  kept  his 
choicest  belongings ;  he  knelt  down  at  its  side 
and  turned  the  contents  over  impatiently  until  he 
found  what  he  sought,  then  he  took  it  to  the  light 
and  inspected  it  closely.  It  was  a  fair -sized 
knife  with  a  verse  running  along  the  blade — his 
father  had  given  it  to  him  at  the  New  Year,  and 
not  a  boy  in  the  Grammar  School  had  one  half 
so  fine.  He  had  considered  it  too  good  for  every- 
day use  ;  the  Sheffield  whittle — his  grandfather's 
gift — was  kept  in  constant  service,  but  this  one 
was  only  taken  forth  on  especial  occasions  and 
then  put  back  again  with  greatest  care.  He 
meant  to  use  it  always  when  he  was  a  man  !  He 
fell  to  polishing  it  with  his  handkerchief,  breath- 


244        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

ing  softly  on  the  steel  and  watching  the  tiny  blur 
cloud  its  brightness  for  one  moment,  only  to  van- 
ish the  next,  and  by  its  going  cause  a  greater  lus- 
tre than  before.  When  mortal  efforts  could  make 
it  shine  no  fairer,  he  went  over  to  the  open  chest 
where  Ned's  clothes  lay  in  a  tumbled  mass  and 
slipped  it  in,  covering  it  carefully.  Sometime  in 
London  town,  a  week  hence  belike,  belike  longer, 
Ned,  tossing  up  his  things,  would  come  across 
the  knife,  and  would  guess  on  the  instant  how  it 
had  come  there.  He  would  know  what  hand  had 
stowed  it  away,  and  his  thoughts  leaping  back  to 
Stratford  would  be  thanks  enough. 

Swiftly  as  the  next  few  hours  went  to  the 
household  in  Henley  Street,  even  the  minutes 
seemed  to  drag  intolerably  to  one  of  the  inmates 
there.  Hamnet  could  feel  no  real  sense  of  secur- 
ity while  Ned  remained  in  Stratford.  There 
might  come  some  mischance  at  any  time  to  hin- 
der his  departure,  and  should  that  happen — the 
boy's  imagination  reeled  at  thought  of  the  worser 
evils  lurking  behind.  He  hovered  about  his  uncle 
in  a  protecting  way  that  was  very  pretty  to  see. 
To  the  elders,  with  one  exception,  there  was 
nothing  remarkable  in  this  constant  show  of  de- 
votion ;  Susanna  and  Judith  were  as  unremitting 
in  their  attentions.  The  near  prospect  of  parting 
with  a  dearly  loved  friend  and  playmate,  for  that 
Ned  had  always  been  to  the  children,  easily  ac- 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       245 

counted  for  the  manner  in  which  they  pressed 
close  at  his  side  with  gentle  words. 

Will  Shakespeare,  however,  quickly  perceived 
the  change  in  his  little  lad's  face.  Whatever  mis- 
understanding there  had  been  hitherto  between 
the  two  boys,  it  existed  no  longer.  There  was  no 
animosity  in  Hamnet's  glance,  that  was  apparent 
to  the  observant  eyes ;  what  was  not  so  apparent 
was  the  reason  for  the  excitement  in  the  child's 
bearing,  and  the  fluctuating  colour  in  his  cheeks. 
Still  this  was  no  time  for  idle  conjecture — the  mo- 
ment that  showed  the  father  the  triumphing  of 
his  son's  better  nature  over  his  jealousy  was  too 
bright  to  be  dimmed  by  any  of  his  own  vague 
fears.  The  lad  had  come  bravely  through  the 
struggle  unaided ;  it  was  only  natural  that  it 
should  have  cost  him  something. 

There  was  an  additional  fondness,  too,  in  Ned's 
gaze  whenever  it  was  turned  upon  his  nephew, 
and  a  touch  of  respect  which  had  never  been 
there  before.  The  sobbing,  incoherent  confession 
Hamnet  had  made  the  previous  night  had  shown 
him,  in  part,  the  tortures  the  valiant  little  heart 
had  endured.  That  there  had  been  some  plot 
afoot  to  set  back  his  journey  seemed  improbable 
enough  to  the  older  boy,  when  the  younger  one 
refused  persistently  to  reveal  the  names  of  the 
conspirators,  and  was  loud  in  words  of  self-cen- 
sure. 


246         Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

It  never  occurred  to  Ned  for  a  moment  to  con- 
nect Diccon  Hobday  with  the  matter ;  none  of 
the  lads  of  good  family  and  position  in  Stratford 
had  aught  to  do  with  him  ;  he  was  a  notorious 
bully  and  idler,  and  one  who  was  ever  in  mischief 
of  some  sort.  It  seemed  as  unlikely,  therefore, 
that  Hamnet  should  be  associated  with  him  in  his 
evil  practices  as  to  say  that  Avon  was  sheer  ice  in 
the  summer-time.  Diccon,  in  reporting  the  fight 
which  had  taken  place  in  the  Warwick  road  the 
week  before,  had  drawn  largely  upon  his  imagina- 
tion for  the  reasons  which  occasioned  it,  though 
the  fact  remained  that  there  had  been  an  encoun- 
ter in  which  Ned  Shakespeare  had  come  off  vic- 
tor. When  a  lazy  lout  steals  an  old  woman's 
savings,  as  Diccon  Hobday  had  stolen  Goody 
Baker's  few  pence,  they  be  sorry  fists  that  will 
not  treat  such  a  rogue  to  the  drubbing  he  so 
richly  deserves,  and  Ned  had  not  been  loath  to 
give  the  cowardly  thief  a  lesson.  He  had  whipped 
him  in  a  fair  fight,  however,  for  he  was  never  one 
to  take  even  the  meanest  adversary  at  a  disad- 
vantage, but  when  at  last  the  dastardly  fellow 
had  cried  '  Hold  ! '  and  had  reluctantly  given  up 
the  money,  Ned  had  gone  on  his  way  without  be- 
stowing another  thought  upon  the  wretch  grovel- 
ling in  the  dust  where  he  had  spurned  him. 

The  plot  as  Hamnet  whispered  it,  now  veiling 
and  anon  unveiling  it,  was  shrouded  in  a  mystery 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       247 

which  had  Ned  had  a  few  days  longer  at  home 
he  would  have  sifted  out  to  his  complete  satisfac- 
tion. As  things  were,  however,  he  was  forced  to 
let  it  rest,  promising  himself  to  disentangle  it  at 
some  future  time,  and  then  reward  those  hidden 
enemies  of  his  with  interest ;  only  for  this  enemy, 
who  had  given  up  his  vengeance  at  the  last,  there 
was  nothing  but  a  heartwhole  pardon.  One  who, 
in  his  remorse,  could  take  all  the  blame  to  him- 
self, who  uttered  no  least  word  of  upbraiding  and 
did  not  seek  to  extenuate  his  actions,  was  surely 
one  to  be  forgiven.  Ned,  after  that  first  flash  of 
anger  in  Sanctity  Lane,  was  conscious  of  a  ten- 
derer affection  than  ever  for  the  little  lad,  and 
when,  the  piteous  tale  ended,  the  child  had  clung 
to  him,  sobbing :  "  Thou'lt  not  seek  to  cozen  me 
from  my  place  in  father's  heart  ?  "  he  had  recog- 
nized his  sufferings  and  had  answered  convinc- 
ingly : 

"  Nay,  thou'rt  mad  to  think  that — thou  dost  thy 
father  and  me  grievous  wrong  to  hold  such 
thoughts.  'Twas  some  fiend  told  thee.  An  I 
should  do  that  thing  may  I  be  blasted  forever!" 

With  the  memory  of  those  words  stirring  in 
his  breast,  and  the  ring  of  the  indignant  voice 
sounding  in  his  ears,  it  was  no  wonder  that  Ham- 
net  should  put  Diccon's  insinuations  from  him 
resolutely,  and  that  all  his  thoughts  toward  his 
uncle  should  be  fair  ones.  Still,  haunted  as  he 


248        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

was  by  that  strange  dread  of  evil  which  even  the 
morning  light  was  powerless  to  banish,  he  wished 
Ned  away. 

Poor  Ned!  'Twas  but  a  sorry  figure  he  cut 
that  morn  with  his  untasted  breakfast  before  him, 
for  how  could  a  body  eat  when  there  was  a  lump 
the  size  of  a  penny-loaf  in  his  throat?  Even  the 
braveness  of  his  attire  set  oddly  upon  him,  he  had 
forgot  so  completely  all  that  jaunty  swagger  with 
which  he  had  borne  himself  but  yesterday.  He 
looked  in  very  truth  like  the  boy  he  was,  not  like 
the  man  he  would  fain  have  others  think  him. 
And  though  he  laughed  right  stoutly  and  talked 
much  in  a  high,  unnatural  voice,  there  was  scant 
sense  in  what  he  said.  However,  there  was  no 
one  by  to  notice  his  sorry  attempts  at  wit,  and 
surely  not  his  mother,  for  the  littlest  thing  did 
make  her  laugh,  as  'twas  indeed  the  case  with  all 
the  rest. 

Suddenly  a  noise  in  the  street  without  came  as 
an  interruption  to  the  gay,  inconsequent  talk,  and 
when  they  had  hurried  to  the  door,  though  they 
knew  full  well  what  it  meant,  there  stood  the  two 
saddle-horses  held  by  the  grinning  boy  from  the 
Swan,  whose  face  broadened  at  sight  of  Will 
Shakespeare,  with  whose  generosity  he  already 
had  had  some  acquaintance.  He  ducked  his  head 
with  a  clumsy  attempt  at  a  bow,  and  looked  out 
from  under  his  shock  of  hair  in  open-mouthed  as- 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       249 

tonishment  at  the  evidences  of  emotion  about 
him. 

"  When  fowkses  be  goin'  to  Lunnon,"  he  said 
later  in  the  day  to  his  fellow-servant  at  the  inn, 
"  'tis  summat  to  be  proud  on,  but  ye'd  ha'  thought 
the  Shaxpers,  look'ee,  was  goin'  to  they's  own 
buryin'  to  see  they.  Ned's  face  was  the  len'th  o' 
Trinity  steeple  and  a  smacked  a's  old  'oman  on 
her  cheeks,  an'  she  hung  raound  a's  neck  an'  at 
the  last  a  had  to  tak  's  two  hands  an'  set  he  loose. 
An'  Wully  Shaxper's  brows  be  drawed,  an'  a 
said  '  Come  on  !'  an'  wi'  that,  a's  little  lad  clombed 
him  up  behint  an'  so  they  gallops  off.  F  fecks, 
thinks  I,  there  be-eth  no  pence  for  I  this  morn, 
but  'twas  no  sooner  i'  my  pate  when  Wully  pulled 
in  's  horse  and  tossed  I  summat.  What  think  'ee? 
'Twas  a  shillin' !  La,  now,  I  wisht  such  fowkses 
went  every  day  to  Lunnon.  I  ha'  ruther  see  a 
grievin'  man  set  off  nor  a  laughin'  one,  says  I — 
your  grievin'  man  keepeth  but  a  half  eye  on  a's 
money,  an'  a  shillin'  looketh  no  bigger  nor  a  sax- 
pence." 

The  travellers  from  Henley  Street  joined  the 
small  gathering  of  horsemen  already  assembled  at 
the  Swan,  and  rode  off  in  their  company,  keeping 
well  to  the  rear.  Ned  had  no  desire  for  society 
just  then,  and  Will  Shakespeare  had  the  excuse 
of  lingering  yet  a  short  space  with  the  child  who 
sat  behind  him.  The  boy,  from  his  position,  cast 


250        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

ever  and  anon  a  wary  glance  around,  seeing  in 
every  bush  some  fancied  resemblance  to  those 
bushes  in  Sanctity  Lane,  and  fearing  that,  despite 
the  brightness  of  the  early  morning,  some  harm 
might  even  then  befall  the  fresh-faced,  uncon- 
scious youth  on  his  right.  It  would  be  so  easy 
for  an  arrow  to  come  singing  through  the  air 
and  find  its  home  in  the  new  plum-coloured  jerkin, 
or  to  wing  by  the  ear  beneath  the  soft,  dark  curls 
so  close,  that  it  might  bite  off  the  tip  in  its  flight. 
But  the  sun,  mounting  higher,  looked  down  on  a 
scene  full  of  peace  and  beauty,  with  no  faintest 
suspicion  of  harm  abroad.  From  the  group  of 
men  in  front  occasional  bursts  of  laughter  and 
gay  scraps  of  conversation  were  borne  back  to 
the  others  on  the  breeze.  A  woodman's  axe, 
with  a  cheerful  ring  in  its  note,  sounded  in  the 
near-by  thicket,  and  a  servant-lass,  stepping  brisk- 
ly across  the  fields,  lifted  her  blithe  voice  in  song. 
There  was  little  said  by  the  three ;  the  sadness 
of  an  indefinite  parting  weighed  heavily  upon 
their  spirits.  Suddenly  Ned  Shakespeare  reined 
in  his  horse  and  looked  back  for  the  last  glimpse 
of  the  distant  town  where  it  lay  beyond  the  shim- 
mering river.  After  a  few  moments  of  thus  look- 
ing, he  straightened  himself  resolutely  and  faced 
again  toward  the  London  road  winding  farther 
and  farther  from  home.  A  sense  of  the  stern 
realities  of  life  sharpened  his  young  features ;  in 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       251 

that  moment  the  curtain  which,  till  then,  had 
shrouded  the  threshold  of  his  manhood  was 
drawn  aside,  and  he  had  taken  a  long  farewell  of 
his  heedless,  inconsequent  boyhood.  He  rode 
quite  near  his  brother.  "  I  be  going  forward 
now,"  he  said,  simply,  but  with  a  new  ring  in  his 
voice  ;  "  thou  wilt  want  these  last  few  minutes  wi' 
Hamnet  alone." 

He  bent  swiftly  and  kissed  the  small,  white 
face. 

"  I  would  thou  wert  going  wi'  us  in  good  sooth, 
little  lad,"  he  said,  huskily,  "  but  cheerly,  true 
heart,  cheerly,  'twill  not  be  long  before  thou'lt 
ride  wi'  us  all  the  way.  Marry,  I  would  that 
time  were  now." 

Hamnet  clung  to  the  extended  hand  with  all  his 
might. 

"  And  so  do  I,"  he  cried  in  choking  accents, 
"  and  so  do  I —  Thou'lt  send  me  a  letter?  " 

"  I'  faith,  I  cannot  say — ask  me  not,  dear  wag,  I 
be  but  a  poor  wight  at  anything  o'  the  sort — but 
there  !  peradventure  I'll  try." 

"  And  thou'lt  keep  a  good  watch  on  father — an 
he  hath  a  pose,  or  quack,  or  any  other  ill  thou'lt 
care  for  him  ?" 

"  Beshrew  me  else !  Why  that's  Ned  Shake- 
speare's chiefest  business  i'  London  —  to  be  a 
help  and  comfort  to  's  brother.  Nay,  now  fare- 
well." 


252        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

The  two  hands  fell  apart  and  the  next  moment 
Ned  galloped  ahead  with  a  fierce  clatter,  a  little 
cloud  of  dust  rising  on  either  side  of  him  and 
spreading  out  upon  the  cobwebbed  grass  along 
the  way. 

"  Ned  's  a  good  lad,"  Will  Shakespeare  said 
half-aloud,  then,  more  to  himself  than  to  the  boy, 
he  continued,  "  I'  faith  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  him 
by  me,  'twill  seem  like  a  bit  o'  home." 

"  I  would  have  stayed  his  going,"  Hamnet  mur- 
mured, faintly. 

It  was  the  veriest  whisper,  wrung  from  the 
child  almost  against  his  will.  A  refractory 
buckle  in  the  strap  engrossed  the  man's  attention 
on  the  instant  so  that  he  did  not  perceive  the 
note  of  anguish  in  the  low  voice,  then  he  lifted 
his  head. 

"  Wouldst  thou  ?  Marry,  thou  hast  conquered 
thy  wicked  thought,  my  brave  boy — my  Hector. 
Thou  wouldst  not  stay  him  now  ?  " 

"  Nay — not  now.  I  be  glad  for  many  reasons 
that  he  is  gone,  that  he  will  be  wi'  thee,  that  'tis 
his  wish,  but  chiefest  that  he  will  be  out  o'  harm's 
way." 

"  O'  harm's  way,  say'st  thou?  Now  I  pray 
Heaven  he  fall  not  into  harm's  way.  By  my 
troth,  there  be  many  pitfalls  in  London  life  for  a 
country  lad,  but  he  will  be  ever  near  me  and  I'll 
e'en  guard  him  an  I  can." 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       253 

"  I  would  have  stayed  his  going,"  the  little 
voice  repeated,  monotonously. 

"  Yea,  yea,  but  that  is  past,  think  not  on  it 
longer,  my  own  true  heart." 

"The  whistle  thou  heard'st  yestreen  was  to  re- 
member me  o'  my  promise." 

Will  Shakespeare  jerked  in  his  horse  and 
turned  to  face  the  child.  "  What  whistle — what 
promise?  " 

"  Why,  in  the  garden  when  Judith  would  have 
us  listen — she  misliked  it  sore — oh  !  thou  know'st, 
surely,  and  Ned  said  'twas  some  signal  and  it 
was  even  so." 

There  was  a  momentary  pause  which  was  filled 
in  by  a  shout  of  laughter  from  the  horsemen  on 
in  front,  but  faintly,  too,  for  they  had  fared  well 
forward.  Hamnet  caught  his  breath  and  went  on 
unflinchingly. 

"  'Twas  to  remember  me  o'  the  message  I  was 
to  give  Ned  to — to  trick  him — nay  I  cannot  tell 
thee — to — to  keep  him  back " 

"  What !  "  Will  Shakespeare  cried  in  a  voice  of 
anger.  "  Didst  thou  conspire  with  others  against 
thine  uncle  —  against  my  own  brother?  Fie 
upon  thee !  Was  that  the  business  yester-noon 
that  kept  thee  from  my  side  ?  Didst  come  from 
that  base  work  to  join  us  in  our  pleasures  ?  An- 
swer me — out  with  it — say  but  one  word." 

"  Yea." 


254        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

Again  there  was  a  pause,  and  again  that  note 
of  merriment  was  borne  back  to  them  on  the  still 
air  where  they  halted  in  the  roadway  beneath  the 
arching  trees  that  bent  above  them  as  a  bird 
broods  over  her  young.  A  dunnock  in  the  bushes 
uttered  its  tender,  plaintive  song,  unconscious  of 
the  heart-break  abroad. 

It  was  a  bitter  moment  to  both  man  and  child, 
such  an  one  as  alters  the  aspect  of  the  world  in 
an  unforgettable  fashion.  The  boy  was  suffering 
in  every  nerve  of  his  body,  and  the  man,  whose 
sympathies  were  ever  with  all  that  was  unselfish, 
generous,  and  good,  to  whom  honour — in  the  least, 
as  in  the  greatest  action — was  the  light  by  which 
he  was  wont  to  live,  experienced  a  sudden  revul- 
sion of  feeling  at  the  revelation  of  the  guilt  prac- 
tised by  one  who  was  dearer  to  him  than  life  and 
fame.  In  his  ears  he  could  hear  again  the  little 
lad's  voice  as  it  had  been  raised  in  song  the  after- 
noon before  and  he  could  still  see  the  laughing 
face  whose  smiles  had  all  the  while  masked  those 
treacherous  intentions.  The  baseness  in  the  boy's 
heart  was  like  the  canker  in  the  folded  bud — un- 
seen— unguessed — from  the  beauty  without,  which 
yet  might  spread — God  alone  knew  whither. 

Will  Shakespeare  put  his  hand  before  his  eyes, 
his  anger  lost  in  a  great,  engulfing  sorrow.  In 
that  brief  space  of  time  many  of  his  brightest 
hopes  had  their  death. 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       255 

"  Let  me  know  thy  story,"  he  said  at  last,  pity 
in  his  voice  and  glance ;  "  let  me  try  to  understand 
it  that  I  may  find  some  way  to  forgive  thee." 

Then  there  followed  one  of  those  miserable 
half-confidences  in  which  the  mists  of  misunder- 
standing do  but  gather  the  more  closely.  The 
little  lad,  in  his  compunction,  kept  back  what 
would  have  justified  his  own  conduct  in  part. 
He  realized  that  by  repeating  what  Diccon  Hob- 
day had  said  he  might  reinstate  himself  in  his 
father's  affection,  but  in  so  doing  it  would  be  at 
Ned's  expense ;  and  after  one  moment  of  tempta- 
tion, he  could  not  let  Ned  suffer.  Surely  it  was 
enough  to  say  that,  jealous  of  his  uncle's  going 
to  London,  he  had  quarrelled  with  him,  and  know- 
ing of  some  older  lads  who  had  a  grudge  against 
him,  he  had  been  willing  to  betray  him  into  their 
hands.  His  halting,  disconnected  sentences  only 
deepened  the  confusion  and  made  his  case  hope- 
less. Nothing  was  clear  to  the  listening  man  save 
that  the  traitorous  message  had  been  writ  and 
delivered  by  his  own  son  ;  after  which — fear  of 
the  results  seizing  upon  the  child — he  had  warned 
Ned  in  some  fashion  and  so  the  evil  had  been 
averted. 

"Who  were  thy  helpers,  thy  masters,  rather?" 
he  demanded  abruptly  when  the  recital  had  come 
to  an  end,  "for  I  cannot  think  that  one  o'  thy 
years  could  devise  so  hellish  a  scheme." 


256       Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

"  Nay,  ask  me  not,"  Hamnet  cried  ;  "  I've  given 
my  word  not  to  tell." 

"  Then  keep  that  much  o'  thine  honour  clean ;  I 
will  not  seek  to  know,  but  an  thou  ever  loved'st 
me  cut  loose  from  their  company.  Get  thee  down." 

The  boy  clung  to  the  strong  figure  wildly. 

"  I  pr'y thee  let  me  ride  as  far  as  to  the  hill-top — 
as  far  as  to  yon  bush  even " 

"  Nay,  not  another  step — here  we  must  part — 
get  down." 

"Thou'lt  not  leave  me  angerly — thou'lt  pardon 
me  and  —  and  —  thou'lt  kiss  me,  dear  Father  — 
sweet  Father " 

"  Think'st  thou  this  day  is  not  a  heavy  one  for 
me  also?"  Will  Shakespeare  asked  with  a  broken 
voice,  as  he  unloosened  the  small  fingers  and  cast 
them  from  him.  "  There  !  there  !  I  pardon  thee, 
little  lad.  Now  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  hold 
my  pardon  back,  only  thou  hast  made  my  heart 
dark,  thou  who  hast  ever  been  its  light.  Nay, 
nay,  I  must  kiss  thee,  sweet,  I'll  not  go  from  thee 
in  anger — but  keep  thy  life  clean,  dear  boy,  and 
so  make  amends.  Farewell." 

He  put  the  lad  from  him  resolutely  and  gal- 
loped on  without  one  backward  glance ;  he  could 
not  trust  himself  to  look  again  at  the  pitiful,  tear- 
stained  face ;  he  would  not  see  the  little  fellow 
come  running  after  him  to  the  hill's  crest.  He 
knew  as  well  as  though  he  had  watched  every 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad        257 

step  of  that  painful  progress  how  the  boy,  blinded 
by  his  tears,  would  stumble  on  and  on,  and  then 
would  wait  breathlessly  for  that  last  glimpse. 
He'd  not  turn  back  to  wave  his  hand — even  the 
withholding  of  that  sign  would  be  some  slight 
punishment  and  the  child  deserved  some  punish- 
ment surely. 

"  1'  faith,"  the  man  said  bitterly  to  himself,  "  an 
we  all  got  what  we  deserved,  which  one  o'  us 
would  come  off  free  ?" 

Just  before  him  the  road  curved  abruptly ;  a 
few  yards  farther  on  and  horse  and  rider  would 
be  lost  to  view.  He  was  almost  there — nay,  he'd 
not  look  back,  the  boy  must  be  made  to  suffer; 
he  had  reached  the  bend Involuntarily  his  fin- 
gers twitched  on  the  reins  and  the  obedient  steed 
paused.  For  one  moment  there  was  a  mighty 
conflict  in  the  man's  breast,  the  next  he  turned  in 
his  saddle  and  waved  his  hand  in  a  last  farewell 
to  the  little  figure  above  him.  There  was  an  an- 
swering signal  in  return,  then  the  rider  spurred 
forward.  He  was  too  far  away  to  see  the  sudden 
joy  that  transfigured  the  child's  face,  as  the  sun- 
light breaking  through  the  banks  of  clouds  glori- 
fies the  storm-swept  land,  too  far  away  to  hear 
the  faint  cry,  "  I'll  make  amends,  sweet  Father." 


CHAPTER  XVtt 

An  honest  tale  speeds  best  being  plainly  told. 

RICHARD  III. 

A  letter  for  me  ?    It  gives  me  an  estate  of  seven  years'  health. 

CORIOLANUS. 

IT  was  Saturday  and  a  half-holiday  at  the  Gram- 
mar School.     Some  of  the  boys  were   gone 
for  a  game  of  ball  to  the  field  beyond  the 
Weir  Brake,  others  lingered  in  the  playgrounds 
back  of  the  Guild  buildings  busy  with  prisoners' 
base,  and  still  others  were  playing  at  tag  across 
the  open  common  of  the  town  itself.     There  were 
divers  ways  of  spending  a  half-holiday,  as  many 
and  dissimilar  as  there  were  boys  to  play  withal. 

Hamnet,  however,  had  no  mind  to  join  in  any 
of  the  sports,  but  sat  instead  on  the  door-step  of 
his  own  home,  his  head  sunk  dejectedly  on  one 
hand.  Susanna  and  Judith  had  just  set  off  for 
Shottery  to  meet  their  mother  and  to  return 
thence  in  the  early  evening.  He  had  watched 
them  disappear  in  the  distance  with  an  almost 
indifferent  glance  ;  later  he  might  follow  them, 
though  he  would  give  no  promise  in  answer  to 
their  cajoling  words. 

258 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       259 

The  day  was  sultry,  and  a  lowering  sky,  with 
not  a  glimpse  of  blue  to  be  seen  anywhere, 
stretched  above  the  parched  earth  ;  for  twenty- 
four  hours  the  dense  mass  of  copperish-coloured 
clouds  had  hung  thus  heavy,  and  still  not  a  drop 
of  rain  had  fallen.  But  the  boy,  idly  noting  the 
low-darting  swallows,  knew  that  the  storm  would 
not  be  delayed  overlong.  There  were  other  in- 
dubitable signs  abroad  which  he  could  not  fail  to 
perceive.  The  soft  smoke  from  the  different 
chimneys  fell  dispiritedly,  shrouding  their  sides 
as  with  a  veil,  the  oxen  in  Neighbour  Bridges's 
field  hard-by  were  snuffing  the  air  with  impatient 
nostrils  and  looking  vainly  to  the  south  with 
longing  in  their  eyes ;  the  bees  had  gathered  in 
swarms  close  to  their  hives,  not  venturing  farther 
away,  and  some  great  blue-bottle  flies  buzzed 
sluggishly  within  reach  of  Silver's  capacious 
jaws  —  Silver,  who  in  his  turn,  would  drowse 
awhile  and  then  rise  listlessly  to  scrape  up  the 
earth  in  the  garden-bed  in  a  futile  search,  or 
anon  would  stretch  himself  with  loud  yawns. 

All  the  morning  Hamnet  had  seen  the  rooks  go 
circling  past  the  school-room  windows,  now  ap- 
pearing and  now  disappearing,  restless  as  were 
the  other  birds  and  beasts.  Their  harsh  cries 
filling  the  air  reminded  him  of  the  noise  they  had 
made  that  night  in  Sanctity  Lane,  and  the  horror 
of  that  dark  moment  pervaded  his  being  again 


260        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

with  a  force  that  chilled  the  blood  in  his  veins. 
The  night  with  its  hideous  details  was  still  fresh 
in  his  memory,  the  remembrance  of  it  followed 
him  to  his  bed  in  the  lonely  attic  and  plagued  him 
through  the  long  hours  there.  It  was  at  his  side 
when  he  woke  from  his  fitful  snatches  of  sleep, 
and  throughout  the  day  the  least  thing  would 
bring  it  before  him.  He  was  haunted  continually 
by  the  thought  of  what  might  have  happened  if 
some  accident  had  delayed  his  footsteps  and 
Ned,  whistling  gayly,  had  advanced  alone  to  that 
dark  line  of  underbrush.  If — if — if —  The  little 
mind  was  in  an  agony  of  torture. 

The  remorse  the  sensitive  nature  had  under- 
gone— and  was  undergoing — was  a  punishment 
more  cruel  than  any  the  most  fiendish  imagina- 
tion could  devise.  One  moment  the  content  of 
Ned's  safety  and  ready  pardon  was  a  salve  to  the 
open,  stinging  wounds,  the  next  they  ached  un- 
bearably ;  though  forgiven,  the  child  could  not 
forgive  himself.  Perhaps  sometime,  he  argued, 
when  he  had  done  some  worthy  thing — some 
thing  so  full  of  honour  that  his  father  would  thrill 
with  pride  to  hear  of  it — he  might  then  forget  all 
the  deceit  and  treachery  which  now  weighed  so 
heavily  upon  him. 

Not  the  least  among  his  bitter  memories  was 
the  remembrance  of  his  father's  anger  and  scorn. 
It  was  like  a  lash  to  his  shrinking  flesh.  But 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       261 

keener,  bitterer,  more  poignant  by  far  was  the 
knowledge  of  the  deep  sorrow  he  had  caused 
the  man.  What!  he,  Hamnet,  who  would  have 
walked  over  burning  ploughshares  to  save  him 
the  littlest,  littlest  ache,  who  would  have  suffered 
untold  miseries  to  keep  pain  of  any  sort  from  him, 
to  burden  him  in  this  cruel  fashion !  To  have 
made  his  heart  dark,  he  who  had  ever  been  its 
light !  The  thought  brought  its  own  anguish — 
it  was  past  enduring. 

Every  word  his  father  had  uttered  was  stamped 
upon  his  brain — he  could  hear  them  everywhere  ; 
clearly,  sternly,  sadly,  they  echoed  and  re-echoed 
through  his  being.  And  then  that  parting  em- 
brace not  one  whit  the  less  tender  for  what  had 
happened — those  lingering  kisses  not  the  less 
dear  because  they  were  given  in  sorrow — those 
words  that  were  fairer  than  the  fairest  music : 
'  Nay,  I  must  kiss  thee,  sweet — I'll  not  go  from 
thee  in  anger — '  while  the  memory  of  these 
brought  comfort,  the  sting  of  his  unworthiness 
robbed  that  comfort  of  all  peace.  He  realized, 
after  some  vague  fashion,  that  he  had  failed  his 
father  and  he  could  not  justify  himself  even  in  his 
own  eyes.  There  was  no  justification  possible. 
He  could  never  begin  to  express  all  the  evil  that 
had  lurked  in  his  jealousy  of  Ned ;  the  black,  ma- 
licious thoughts  stumbled  back  incessantly  to  up- 
braid him.  And  besides  that  jealousy — and  what 


262        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

it  might  have  led  to — he  had  forgot  the  Shake- 
speare honour  and  had  tossed  his  word  aside  as 
carelessly  as  good  Master  Combe  often  scattered 
coins  that  the  boys  might  scramble  for  them  in  a 
fine  game  of  Muss.  He  was  a  promise-breaker! 
Why,  not  a  boy  at  school  but  would  cry  '  fie  '  to 
hear  that  he  could  unswear  an  oath  so  lightly. 

Over  and  over  again  in  an  unending  circle, 
these  thoughts  presented  themselves  to  the  little 
lad,  now  one,  now  the  other,  now  altogether,  un- 
til it  almost  seemed  as  if  his  strength  would  fail 
him  so  weary  did  he  become.  He  had  grown 
paler,  too,  and  hollow-eyed,  and  his  head  often 
ached,  though  not  as  his  heart  did  ;  still  he  ut- 
tered no  word  of  complaint.  With  an  undaunted 
bravery  of  mien  which  he  had  inherited  from  his 
father,  he  faced  the  dreary  days  and  the  intermin- 
able nights.  He  was  gentler,  perhaps,  than  he  had 
ever  been,  and  those  about  him  not  understand- 
ing— for  it  is  not  always  given  to  those  who  live 
nearest  us  to  see  the  most  clearly — thought  that 
it  was  the  separation  from  his  dearly  beloved  par- 
ent which,  for  the  time  being,  had  put  a  check 
upon  his  usually  merry  spirits. 

"  The  trouble  will  mend  with  the  days,"  Mis- 
tress Mary  Shakespeare  told  herself  softly,  sor- 
rowing for  the  pain  the  little  fellow  must  bear 
alone ;  "  an  'twere  not  for  the  balm  they  bring  us, 
our  grief  would  know  no  ease." 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       263 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  distress  of  mind  Hamnet 
had  not  felt  one  throb  of  apprehension  for  the  pun- 
ishment which  he  might  look  for  at  any  moment 
from  Diccon  Hobday.  On  the  comfortless,  home- 
ward walk  that  Tuesday  morning,  when,  despite 
the  sun's  shining  and  all  the  brave  summer  beauty 
around  him,  he  was  only  aware  of  the  darkness  in 
his  own  breast,  he  had  half  expected  to  be  way- 
laid by  Diccon  and  his  followers,  and  to  receive 
at  their  hands  that  which  he  had  courted  and  de- 
served. But  he  had  crept  on  unmolested,  sick 
at  heart,  though  not  from  fear  of  any  bodily  ill. 
Since  that  time  three  days  had  elapsed  and  as  yet 
Diccon  had  made  no  move  of  any  sort,  though 
there  was  small  danger  that  he  would  break 
his  word.  The  little  lad,  however,  did  not  wish 
the  promise  to  be  broken  as  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned. If  he  had  deserved  contempt  for  slight- 
ing his  own  word,  let  that  contempt  be  wiped 
out  with  blows — only  in  that  way  could  he  begin 
afresh. 

He  sat  quite  still  for  some  minutes  after  his 
sisters  had  taken  their  departure,  gazing  idly  be- 
fore him.  The  gilly  vors  in  the  garden  that  were 
wont  to  flaunt  their  gay  colours  in  the  sun  were 
limp  and  straggling,  with  no  trace  of  coquetry 
left  in  their  bearing,  the  grass  was  parched  and 
lifeless,  but  just  where  he  could  see  it,  a  belated 
'Jump  up  and  kiss  me*  lifted  its  merry  little  face 


264        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

from  the  faded  green,  a  perpetual  sunshine  in  its 
bright  glance.  Hamnet  regarded  it  half  curi- 
ously for  a  few  moments. 

"  I'  faith  thou'rt  a  brave  flower,"  he  said  at  last, 
in  his  dreamy  fashion ;  "  where  all  else  looketh 
drear  thou'rt  still  smiling.  I  do  bethink  me  that's 
what  someone  would  fain  have  me  do.  Even  if  'tis 
dark  all  around  I  must  be  like  yon  bloom.  What 
is  't  the  folk  here  say  of  it?  They  call  it  pansy — 
h'm  ! — a  pansy — that's  for  thoughts.  Marry,  this 
shall  remember  me  o'  father  and  his  ways  ?  "  the 
boy  drew  in  his  breath  hard  and  set  his  face  reso- 
lutely ;  after  an  instant  or  so  he  began  to  whistle 
a  few  staves  of  a  song  softly  to  himself. 

He  broke  off  suddenly  and  sprang  to  his  feet, 
eager  to  put  an  end  alike  to  his  laziness  and  to 
his  sad  reflections.  He  opened  the  door  back  of 
him  and  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  lungs,  but  his 
voice  sounded  hollow  and  unnatural  in  the  empty 
house.  He  waited  for  the  reverberations  to  cease 
and  something  in  the  stillness  of  his  surroundings 
filled  him  with  a  nameless  dread.  "  Gran,"  he 
cried,  "  Gran  !  " 

There  was  no  answer,  and  b}^  degrees  the  re- 
membrance came  to  him  that  his  grandparents 
had  purposed  going  that  morning  to  Snitterfield 
where  Henry  Shakespeare  was  lying  ill  of  a  slow 
fever.  Hamnet  closed  the  door  after  him  and 
stepped  out  again  under  the  pent-house  with  an 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       265 

anxious  glance  at  the  threatening  clouds.  He 
hoped  it  would  not  rain  for  awhile ;  the  grass  and 
flowers  must  take  a  lesson  from  his  brave  little 
bloom,  and  wait  with  what  spirit  they  could  sum- 
mon to  their  aid.  It  must  not  rain  with  grand- 
father and  grandmother  still  from  home,  and  all 
the  others  away  at  Shottery. 

On  the  moment  he  decided  to  join  his  mother 
and  sisters  there,  and  started  down  the  street 
with  Silver  stepping  proudly  at  his  side.  They 
had  only  gone  a  little  distance  when  their  prog- 
ress was  barred  by  a  strange  figure.  It  was  a 
short,  stout  man  laden  with  bundles,  and  carrying 
a  saddle  upon  his  head  in  such  a  fashion  that  he 
almost  ran  the  two  wayfarers  down.  Hamnet 
veered  quickly  to  one  side  to  avoid  the  danger, 
then  he  paused  outright. 

"  Give  ye  good  den,  good  Neighbour  Page,"  he 
said,  with  his  ready  courtesy,  "  an  thou  wilt,  I'll 
gladly  help  thee." 

The  stranger  thus  addressed  came  to  a  stand- 
still in  his  turn  and  pushed  back  his  curious  head- 
gear, disclosing  a  fat,  red  face,  down  which  the 
drops  of  perspiration  were  trickling  in  their  vain 
haste  to  overtake  one  another. 

"  Oh,  ho,"  he  cried,  in  a  deep,  pleasant  voice, 
"  'tis  Will  Shakespeare's  little  lad.  Marry,  but 
thou  may'st  help  me — it  shall  never  be  said  o' 
Nick  Page  that  he  refused  a  friend's  offer  when  it 


266        Will  Shakespeare 's  Little  Lad 

came  i'  the  nick  o'  time.  There's  a  jest,  hark  'ee 
that  might  please  the  world  an  I  were  handy  wi' 
my  pen.  The  nick  o'  time  quoth  I,  when  thou 
earnest  to  help  me,  Nick  Page  !  Here,  take  this 
bundle  and  bear  it  wi'  care.  What !  wilt  have  an- 
other to  keep  it  company?  Why,  there,  the  bur- 
dening o'  thine  arms  is  the  easing  o'  mine  own. 
And  for  myself  I  can  rid  me  o'  this  monstrous 
copatain  hat  that  liketh  me  not  and  carry  it  so. 
Verily,  an  I'd  not  leave  it  at  the  Swan  for  it  to 
serve  every  man's  turn  I  must  e'en  turn  myself 
into  a  sumpter's  horse.  I'  faith  I'd  not  have  that 
smug-faced  drawer,  Tom  Hedges  saddle  himself 
wi'  it,  he  looks  groats  out  o'  a  man !  But  how 
shall  I  pay  thee,  little  lad  ?" 

"  I  want  no  pay,  good  Master  Page." 

"  Ay,  but  thou  shalt  have  pay,  thou  must  have 
pay — now  before  we  part  I'll  give  thee  summat 
as  cost  me  naught  and  yet  'twill  be  richer  than 
gold  to  thee.  Riddle  me  that  an  thou  canst. 
'Ods  nouns,  'tis  as  good  a  riddle  as  was  ever  set 
down  i'  a  book.  Where  dost  think  I  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  London,  belike." 

"  Nay,  to  't  again — thy  thoughts  are  all  for  Lon- 
don, I  trow.  'Twas  not  from  London  and  yet 
there  was  an  o  in  it.  An  o  in  it — Ho,  ho!  That's 
good  i'  faith,  passing  good,  but  now  I  do  bethink 
me  there  were  many  o's  in  it,  for  when  I  lay  at 
the  Crown  I  heard  a  vast  number  o'  sighs " 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       267 

"  The  Crown  ?  Thou  wert  at  Oxford  then  and 
— I  pr'ythee,  good  Master  Page,  was  it  when  my 
sweet  father  was  there  ?  " 

"  Ay,  that  it  was.  Now  I  give  Heaven  praise 
here's  my  house  already,  how  quick  time  doth 
speed  in  pleasant  company !  Yea,  thy  father  was 
there,  lad,  and  we'd  a  cup  o'  clary  together  (but 
prithee,  no  word  o'  that !)  and  Ned  was  there,  too. 
A  fine  youth  and  a  manly ;  he'll  make  a  gallant 
player,  I  warrant  me.  I  hope  some  day  to  see 
him  enact  a  part  an  'tis  ever  my  dole  to  be  where 
my  Lord  Chamberlain's  men  are — hist!  breathe 
not  that — my  good  mistress  is  e'en  turned  Puri- 
tan and  her  brother — oh  Lord  !  Lord !  what  ways 
must  we  all  come  to." 

"  But  my  father,  sweet  Master  Page,  how  looked 
he — was  he  sad  ?  " 

"  Nay  not  sad,  and  not  glad,  neither,  but  shad- 
owed wi'  a  pleasing  melancholy  as  though  the 
pasty  liked  him  not,  and  he  had  few  words  to  say, 
yet  he  was  no  wet  blanket  on  our  cheer.  Then, 
on  a  sudden,  the  smile  was  on  his  face — as  quick 
as  the  dace  leaps  i'  the  stream.  Thou  couldst 
never  guess  the  wherefore  o'  it." 

"  Nay  that  I  could  not,  so  I  pray  thee  tell  it 
me." 

"  Why,  spoke  like  a  good  lad,  and  I'll  e'en  to 
my  story.  F  faith  it  must  be  short  and  sweet 
like  the  posy  i'  a  wedding-ring.  Now  it  so  fell 


268        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

out  that  business  had  called  me  to  Oxon  some 
days  before  thy  father  came  thither,  but  my  wife  s 
brother — Master  Abraham  Sturley — him  that  I 
spoke  of  just  now,  journeyed  there  at  the  same 
time.  Not  i'  Will  Shakespeare's  company — Lord 
no ! — but  on  the  edge  o'  it  as  it  were,  like  fringe 
upon  a  damsel's  petticoat.  He  and  some  o'  his 
fellow  Puritans  had  banded  themselves  together 
and  had  ridden  on,  taking  the  dust  o'  the  un- 
godly even  into  their  very  nostrils.  Well,  my 
wife's  brother  never  lies  at  the  Crown — marry, 
the  meat  there  mislikes  him  sore  ! — so  I  hied  me 
to  his  lodgings  to  greet  him.  And  after  we  had 
talked  o'  this  and  that  I  told  him  that  among  the 
travellers  who  had  but  just  come  in  were  my  dear 
neighbour  and  friend  gentle  Will  Shakespeare, 
the  very  sweetest  fellow  in  all  this  world,  and  his 
brother  Ned.  Whereupon  did  my  wife's  brother 
fall  to  talking  wi'  hums  and  ha's  and  shakings  o' 
his  head  and  Lord  save  us  nows !  But  the  heart 
o'  his  sentences  was  this :  How  that  the  night  be- 
fore he  left  Stratford — a  Monday  night  it  was — 
he  was  out  late  e'en  singing  o'  hymns  and  pray- 
ing o'  prayers,  and  on  his  way  home,  when  he  had 
almost  reached  his  own  door  lying  well  out  along 
Sanctity  Lane,  he  stumbled  him  o'er  a  dark  figure 
i'  the  road.  Nay,  young  lad,  there  was  no  clary, 
nor  sack  neither,  nor  so  much  as  a  can  o'  ale  at 
that  Puritan  meeting. 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       269 

"  Well,  my  brother — my  wife's  brother — but 
there !  'tis  all  the  same — was  for  going  forward 
and  then,  for  that  he  hath  very  tender  bowels  o* 
compassion,  he  bent  him  over  the  stranger,  and 
when  he  saw  that  he  was  not  dead — nor  not  dead 
drunk  neither — but  only  stunned  by  some  blow,  he 
worked  over  him  an  he  were  his  very  own  until 
the  fellow  oped  his  eyes.  'Twas  that  good-for- 
naught  Walter  Cawdrey,  but  my  wife's  brother 
is  ever  for  saving  a  brand  from  the  burning " 

"  Wat  Cawdrey  ?" 

"  Ay,  Tony  Cawdrey's  son  and  the  grief  o'  the 
old  man's  declining  days.  'Twas  a  grievous  tale 
he  had  to  tell,  how  Diccon  Hobday,  that  most 
unrighteous  knave,  had  set  a  plot  forward  to 
murder  Ned  Shakespeare,  and  for  the  better  fur- 
thering o'  his  vile  purpose  he  had  e'en  told  little 
Hamnet  Shakespeare  (that's  thee  !)  the  most  piti- 
fullest  stories,  as  if  they'd  come  from  Ned's  own 
mouth,  o'  cruel  things  he  said  thine  own  father 
had  spoke  about  thee.  And,  at  first,  though  there 
was  no  single  word  o'  truth  in  'em,  Wat  did  say 
thou  wert  angered,  and  rightfully  too,  and  wert 
willing  to  have  Ned  punished,  then  thy  heart  mis- 
gave thee  and  thou'dst  not  hearken  to  any  harm 
being  done  thine  uncle.  But  Diccon  plied  thee  wi' 
more  lies,  and  said  he'd  only  stay  Ned's  going  to 
London,  so  at  the  last,  willy-nilly,  he  got  thy  con- 
sent to  give  him  some  message.  And  whether 


270        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

thou  didst  or  not  that  foolish  Walter  could  not 
tell,  but  only  that  when  they  were  waiting  for 
Ned  that  Monday  night,  Diccon  and  himself  and 
another  lad,  thou  cam'st  in  his  stead  and  bade 
them  be  off,  and  so  frighted  'em  wi'  saying  the 
watch  was  nigh,  that  they  scurried  away  like 
water-rats.  And  Diccon,  wanting  to  be  first,  did 
quarrel  wi'  Wat  and  gave  him  a  blow  that  sent 
him  flying. 

"  So  that  was  all,  and  the  moment  my  brother 
was  done  I  left  him,  e'en  wi'  his  mouth  open 
pouring  forth  the  moral  o'  it  all  and  how  Ned 
Shakespeare  should  take  this  as  a  warning  and 
shun  plays  and  players,  and  all  ungodly  mum- 
meries. I  ran  me  back  to  the  Crown  as  fast  as 
my  legs  could  carry  me,  and  out  wi'  the  tale  in  a 
flash,  and  Ned  was  all  for  going  back  to  Stratford 
to  serve  Diccon  Hobday  after  his  deserts,  and  he 
told  us  what  thou  hadst  done  to  save  him  that 
night,  and  how  thou  wouldst  not  tell  the  names  o' 
those  that  were  mixed  up  wi'  thee  i'  the  matter, 
but  e'en  took  all  the  blame  to  thyself.  This  and 
much  more,  and  when  he  had  come  to  the  end, 
now  I  do  protest,  there  was  that  standing  i'  thy 
father's  eyes  that  would  ha'  made  me  swear  there 
was  onions  on  his  plate  did  I  not  know  otherwise. 
Go  to !  'twas  there,  but  'twas  clear  shining  again 
in  a  second,  and  a  smile  'twould  ha'  made  thy 
heart  dance  to  see.  And  when  we  had  taken  our 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       271 

clary  he  plucked  me  by  the  sleeve  and  asked  me 
if  I'd  do  a  favour  for  him.  So  I  told  him  yea,  even 
if  it  was  to  go  to  the  Indies  for  it.  And  he  said 
'twas  not  so  far  but  'twas  to  a  fairer  place  and 
that  was — home.  And  when  he  found  that  I  was 
e'en  coming  back  this  week,  why  then  I  must 
bear  this  precious  thing  for  him ;  he'd  ha'  come 
himself,  instead,  only  that  his  word  was  passed  to 
be  i'  London.  'Ods  my  little  life,  how  thou  hast 
kept  me  talking  !  Canst  guess,  now,  how  I  shall 
pay  thee  for  thy  kindness,  thou  little  copy  o'  thy 
father?  What  is  that  that  hath  cost  me  naught 
and  yet  will  be  richer  than  gold  to  thee?" 

"  A  letter— a  letter  !  " 

"  In  good  sooth,  thou'rt  right — 'tis  that.  But 
marry,  why  all  this  pother  about  a  mere  bit  o' 
paper  wi'  characters  upon  it?  There,  rest  thee 
there,  my  saddle,  and  now  my  bundles — one — 
two — three — four — so,  to  my  task.  'Twill  be  a 
search,  indeed,  to  find  that  same  letter  I  warrant 
me.  Is 't  i' this  poke?  Nay,  not  so.  Nor  this? — 
my  hat-band  belike  ?  What !  not  there  ?  Whew  ! 
suppose  it  be  dropped  by  the  way  —  a  sorry 
chance — a  sorry  chance.  Here  Master  Hoppity, 
Master  Ne'er-Stand-Still,  help  me  out  wi'  this 
thing  that  I  ha'  borne  above  my  heart.  There ! 
away  wi'  thee,  thank  me  no  thanks." 

"  I  can  never — never — never — thank  thee  enow," 
the  little  lad  cried  in  a  shaking  voice,  as  he  threw 


272         Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

himself  against  the  man  and  clung  to  him  in  a 
close  embrace. 

"  Nay,  then,  strangle  me  not,"  Nick  Page  pro- 
tested, his  honest  eyes  shining  but  dimly  through 
the  soft  mist  that  o'erspread  them,  "  undo  thy 
hands  and  scamper,  lest  my  mistress  coming  will 
read  thee  a  sermon  as  long  as  my  arm  for  such 
pestilential  foolery.  Why  'twas  no  such  great 
thing  to  bear  that  letter  home,  an  I  ha'  done  the 
work  o*  the  Nine  Worthies  thou  couldst  not  re- 
ward me  more.  In  sooth,  I  be  but  a  foolish,  mild 
man,  and  so  my  good  wife  is  ever  saying — but 
there ! — A  plague  upon  this  dust  that  hath  blind- 
ed me  and  hath  got  i'  my  throat  besides  !  Will 
the  rain  never  come  to  lay  it?  What  think'st 
thou,  young  Shakespeare — it  hath  grown  parlous 
dark  indeed." 

"  I  cry  thee  pardon,  dear  Master  Page,  methinks 
'tis  passing  bright." 

"  Go  to,  for  a  mad  lad  !  Wi'  clouds  like  a  sable 
pall  ready  to  burst  i'  torrents  any  moment,  how 
canst  say  'tis  bright?  Out  upon  thee  for  a  ras- 
cally knave.  Come,  away,  away,  true  heart,  I 
hear  my  mistress'  voice  within,  an  she  findeth  out 
I  supped  at  the  Crown  wi'  a  play-actor  (now  the 
Lord  love  him !)  I  am  undone." 


CHAPTER  XVlll 

I  feel  within  me 

A  peace  above  all  earthly  dignities, 
A  still  and  quiet  conscience. 

HENRY  VIII. 

The  wheel  is  come  full  circle. 

KING  LEAR. 

THERE  was  no  further  consideration  of  Shot- 
tery  and  the  dear  ones  there.  The  wish 
to  join  them  was  forgotten  in  the  desire 
to  be  alone — alone  with  those  new,  new  thoughts 
and  that  wonderful  letter  anywhere  in  the  fields, 
with  only  the  voice  of  Avon  slipping  past  among 
the  sedges  underneath  a  sky  that  not  all  the  blue 
and  gold  of  summer  could  make  more  fair.  Un- 
mindful of  the  direction  he  had  taken,  Hamnet 
passed  along  down  to  the  waterside  and,  turning, 
followed  the  river  for  a  short  distance  on  the 
way  toward  Charlecote.  He  loved  to  wander 
at  will  through  the  pleasant  meadows  or,  anon, 
keep  to  the  little  path  that  wound  up  the  wooded 
steep  and  so  on  to  Sir  Lucy's  demesne  and  Bish- 
op's Hampton. 

Sometimes  long  lines  of  grey  willows  and  green 
18  273 


274        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

alders  completely  hid  all  glimpses  of  the  river, 
sometimes  the  trees  fell  away  and  it  curved 
through  low-lying  lands,  one  with  the  grassy 
margin,  or  again  it  was  lost  to  sight  by  enclosing 
thickets  ;  but  his  quick  ear  was  ever  heedful  of 
its  voice  as  it  went  laughing  through  the  rushes 
along  the  pebbly  shore,  or  stole  by  some  darkened 
spot  with  a  sad  moan  in  its  murmurs.  There  was 
scant  music,  however,  in  its  sluggish  flow  that 
day,  though  his  happy  heart  would  have  discov- 
ered only  its  own  meaning  therein  had  the  boy 
chanced  to  listen.  But  with  that  little  scrap  of 
paper  in  his  keeping  which  had  altered  the  whole 
aspect  of  earth  and  sky  so  wonderfully,  how 
could  he  stop  to  think  of  aught  else  ?  He  had 
read  it  again  and  again  as  he  walked  along,  and 
now  that  he  held  it  thrust  into  the  breast  of  his 
jerkin  turn  where  he  would  he  could  still  see  those 
magic-producing  words. 

He  ran  forward  gayly,  unconscious  of  the  low- 
ering  heavens,  unconscious  of  the  breathless  heat, 
unconscious,  most  of  all,  of  the  stealthy  footsteps 
following  ever  behind  him,  lagging  when  he 
lagged  and  pressing  on  more  quickly  when  he 
accelerated  his  pace.  Several  times  Silver  paused 
and  gave  utterance  to  a  low,  snarling  bark,  but 
he  was  speedily  recalled  to  his  usual  good  be- 
haviour by  a  word  of  reproof  from  his  master, 
and  no  whit  abashed  continued  on  his  way,  lick- 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       275 

ing  the  pendent  hand  with  a  gently  apologetic 
tongue. 

"  I  cannot  make  thee  out,"  Hamnet  cried  at  last 
as  Silver  growled  more  fiercely  than  he  had  yet 
done,  "  there's  naught  abroad  to  vex  thee  that  I 
wot  on.  Is  't  not  enough  that  I  am  happier  than 
I  ever  thought  to  be,  but  that  thou  shouldst  seek 
to  mar  my  content  wi'  thy  grumblings  ?  Nay,  I 
meant  not  to  speak  so  roundly,  dear  heart,  and  I 
cry  thee  pardon.  Come,  come,  we'll  go  no  far- 
ther— we'll  e'en  rest  here  awhile  and  then  hie  us 
home." 

As  he  spoke  the  boy  seated  himself  on  the 
ground  and  drew  the  dog's  head  up  on  his  breast 
with  a  soothing  touch. 

It  was  a  wild,  tangled  place ;  the  banks  of  the 
river,  which  narrowed  here,  were  sheer  and  dense- 
ly wooded  and  the  stream,  uncoiling  at  their  feet, 
was  kept  in  an  almost  perpetual  darkness,  which 
lent  a  sense  of  danger  to  the  uncertain  depths.  On 
a  warm,  fair  day  it  was  pleasant  enough  to  turn 
from  the  dazzling  glow  and  to  halt  for  a  brief 
space  amid  these  cool  shadows  and  glance  down 
into  the  eddying  waters  beneath  the  overarching 
trees  and  catch  the  sudden  points  of  light  where  an 
occasional  shaft  of  sunshine  pierced  the  thinner 
leaves  with  its  sharp  lance,  probing  its  way  to  the 
waves  and  shivering  them  with  its  touch,  or  to 
see  them  disturbed  from  their  sullenness  and 


276        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

brightened  by  a  kingfisher's  quick  dart  for  its 
prey.  But  when  the  sky  was  overcast  there  was 
something  unlovely  and  sinister  in  the  grey 
gloom  all  around.  The  hush  that  so  often  pre- 
cedes a  storm  pervaded  the  lonely  spot  that  July 
afternoon  and  gave  it  an  additional  air  of  solem- 
nity. It  was  as  if  Nature  were  holding  her  breath 
in  anxious  expectancy,  dreading  she  knew  not 
what.  A  great  heron,  alarmed  by  the  invasion 
of  its  solitude,  rose  from  the  side  of  the  river 
and  flapped  its  heavy  wings  noisily  as  it  moved 
away  farther  up  stream,  flying  low  above  the 
water.  A  little  willow  wren  piped  in  feeble  dis- 
may from  its  nest,  and  the  frightened  whir  of  the 
reed  sparrows  among  the  sedges  for  a  moment 
disturbed  the  brooding  stillness,  then  it  pressed 
close  again  darker  and  gloomier  for  the  touch 
of  life  and  motion  that  had  come  and  gone. 

Hamnet,  sitting  on  the  bank,  was  unmindful  of 
any  lack  of  brightness  in  his  surroundings;  usu- 
ally in  sympathy  with  Nature's  varying  moods 
he  yet  failed  to  perceive  that  in  this  instance  she 
was  not  in  accord  with  his  thoughts.  The  golden 
haze  which  invested  his  fancy  lent  a  fairness  to 
everything.  He  went  on  patting  Silver's  head 
with  a  tender  hand. 

"  Thou  canst  not  think  what  joy  hath  come  to 
me,"  he  said  after  a  little,  a  faint  tremor  in  his  soft 
voice,  "  thou  canst  not  think.  A  letter,  the  sweet- 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       277 

est,  the  bravest,  that  ever  was  writ,  I  trow,  and 
mine — mine — my  very  own.  Nay  I  pity  thee, 
dear  beast,  that  thou  canst  not  read  it  for  thyself, 
but  there!  I'll  pour  it  into  thine  ears — thou  shalt 
know  every  least  word  o'  it.  I'll  not  keep  it 
from  thee  a  minute  longer." 

He  transferred  Silver's  head  to  his  knee  and 
drew  the  paper  from  his  breast,  kissing  it  warmly. 

"See  thou  how  fair  it  looketh,"  he  went  on; 
"  oh !  poor,  poor  eyes  that  cannot  make  it  out,  my 
eyes  shall  serve  thee.  Listen  : 

" '  Alderliefest :  From  my  heart  I  write  that  word,  but  'tis 
most  weak  indeed.  There  hath  come  news  to  us,  my  brave  boy 
— my  all  the  world — of  the  sore  trouble  thou  hast  known  of  late, 
those  wicked  lies,  which,  working  on  thy  gentle  nature,  turned  it 
to  bitterness  until  thou  wert  ready  to  do  the  villain's  bidding. 
But  in  the  end  thine  own  true  heart  conquered,  as  true  hearts 
always  must  and  shall. 

" '  Now  'fore  heaven  'twas  a  valiant  act  that  run  of  thine 
through  the  night  for  thy  uncle's  sake,  and  I  cry  thee  pardon, 
sweet,  for  that  I  was  wroth  with  thee  before  I  came  away. 
Hadst  thou  told  me  all  not  one  least  cloud  would  have  lain  be- 
twixt us.  Nay,  never  let  there  be  thought  of  jealousy  on  thy 
part.  Tis  a  vice  to  shun,  for  there  is  no  fair  thing  that  it  doth 
not  poison,  and  every  little  trifle,  to  the  jealous  mind,  seemeth 
more  real  than  the  great  sun  itself. 

'"I  would  I  were  back  in  Stratford  again  that  I  might  wreak 
my  vengeance  on  thy  cozeners,  but  shun  their  company — this 
charge  I  lay  upon  thee.  I  will  not  make  this  letter  longer  than  to 
say  that  I  kiss  thy  dear  lips  and  to  pray  God,  little  lad,  that  He  will 
have  thee  in  His  holy  keeping.  From  the  Crown,  the ' " 


278        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

With  a  deep  bark  Silver  bounded  away  from 
the  encircling  arm,  knocking  the  paper  which  his 
master  held  before  him  upon  the  ground  in  his 
flight.  Hamnet  possessed  himself  of  it  quickly 
and  smoothed  out  its  crumpled  folds,  then  he 
thrust  it  into  his  breast  again.  "Thou  art  over- 
rude,  1  trow,"  he  cried,  half  angrily,  "  and  need'st 
that  that  will  teach  thee  better  manners " 

"Ay,  that  he  doth,"  a  voice  back  of  him 
growled,  "  an  thou  dost  na  call  the  beast  off,  I'll 
give  him  summat  that  will  stop  his  mouth  for- 
ever." 

Hamnet  was  on  his  feet  in  a  flash,  and  turning 
saw  Diccon  Hobday  trying  to  ward  off  Silver 
with  a  huge  stick,  while  just  behind  him  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Wat  Cawdrey's  vanishing 
figure.  In  a  moment  the  boy's  firm  hand  was  on 
the  dog's  collar  and  he  had  jerked  the  animal  back. 

"Down,  true  heart,  down,"  he  commanded, 
"thou  art  a  trusty  friend — come,  we'll  e'en  go 
home." 

"  Nay,  thou'lt  na  budge,"  Diccon  cried,  his 
voice  gaining  in  boldness,  as  the  dog  unwillingly 
crouched  at  his  master's  feet;  "  I  have  summat  to 
say  to  thee,  else  I'd  na  tracked  thee  hither  from 
Stratford,  and  go  thou  shalt  na." 

"  I  may  not  stay,  so  prithee  let  us  pass." 

"  And  why  may'st  na  stay,  thou  little  whining 
thing  ?  A  week  agone  thou  wert  willing  enow  to 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       279 

companion  me  when  I  could  serve  thy  turn,  but 
now — thou  may'st  na  stay.  By  the  mass,  who  hath 
laid  behests  on  thee?  Marry,  'tis  I,  Diccon  Hob- 
day, that  shall  say  what  thou  wilt  do." 

"  Nay,  then,  I  may  have  naught  to  do  wi'  thee, 
for  so  my  father  hath  said." 

"Thy  father?  Out  upon  thee,  for  a  tattling 
knave ! " 

"  I  tattled  not,  'twas  thine  own  friend  there 
that  told,  and  more  besides;  how  'twas  all  false 
that  thou  didst  tell  about  Ned,  and  'twas  only 
said  so  that  I  should  help  thee  to  thine  own  ven- 
geance." 

"  Beshrew  me,  but  'tis  a  lie,  Diccon,  an  arrant 
lie ! "  Cawdrey  vociferated  stoutly  as  he  crept  a 
trifle  nearer,  though  he  still  maintained  a  consid- 
erable distance  between  himself  and  Silver. 

Hamnet  cast  a  look  of  scorn  upon  the  speaker 
who  was  now  sworn  friends  again  with  the  un- 
principled fellow. 

"'Tis  the  very  truth,"  he  exclaimed,  disdain- 
fully. 

"  So  thou'lt  slander  thy  betters,  and  lie,  and 
break  thy  word,  thou  lily-livered,  prating  thing," 
Diccon  cried,  white  with  anger;  "thou'lt  pay  for 
thine  own  sins  and  thine  uncle's  into  the  bargain, 
or  I'll  change  skins  wi'  a  weasel.  Thou  needst 
na  think  to  fright  me  wi'  that  lazy  cur,  I've  that 
here  that  shall  quiet  him." 


280        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

There  was  a  sudden  gleam  of  steel  as  he  finished 
speaking,  and  Silver,  with  a  loud  yelp  of  pain, 
bounded  into  mid-air  only  to  fall  back  with  a 
groan,  a  stream  of  blood  gushing  from  his  shoul- 
der where  the  knife  had  gone  home. 

For  one  moment  Hamnet  stood  as  if  paralyzed 
with  the  horror  of  what  had  happened,  while 
everything  swam  before  him  in  a  sickening  mist, 
the  next — with  a  great  cry  of  grief — he  threw 
himself  upon  his  knees  by  the  prostrate  animal 
and  tried  to  stanch  the  wound  with  his  handker- 
chief. 

"  Alack !  my  dear  heart,"  he  sobbed,  forgetful 
of  the  presence  of  his  enemy,  forgetful  of  all  else 
save  the  suffering  in  the  loving,  upraised  eyes, 
"  look  at  me — tell  me  thou  art  not  hurt  over- 
much." 

"  So,  thou  gaby,  I've  found  a  scheme  to  make 
thee  cry,  eh?"  Diccon  snarled,  as  he  gave  the 
dog  a  brutal  kick;  "methinks  a  bath  in  the  river 
would  be  a  cure-all  for  that  wound.  Lend  a  hand, 
Wat,  and  we'll  cast  the  beast  in  and  his  master 
after  him." 

Hamnet  laid  Silver's  head  gently  upon  the 
ground  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  confronting  his 
taunting  foe. 

"  Go  thy  ways,"  he  said,  brokenly,  "  thou  hast 
hurt  me  enow ;  an  thou  hadst  knifed  me,  'twould 
not  have  been  so  bad.  Go." 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       281 

"  By  my  troth,"  Diccon  sneered,  "  wouldst  lord 
it  over  me?  I'll  go  when  the  humour  seizeth  me, 
and  na  before,  and  that's  the  end  on't.  And  as 
for  this  thing  here,  why  so — and  so — I'll  spoil  's 
pretty  steps  for  him  if  that  he  ever  walketh  again. 
What !  thou'lt  show  thy  teeth  at  me,  thou  cur  ? 
I'll  bleed  thee  more  for  that  complaint." 

Hamnet  caught  the  raised  arm  in  his  hands 
and  dragged  it  back  with  all  his  pitiful  strength. 

"  Nay,  that  thou  shalt  not,"  he  cried  ;  "  thou 
shalt  not  harm  him  further — thy  quarrel  is  wi' 
me.  I  pray  thee,  thresh  me,  as  thou  saidst,  keep 
to  thy  word — but  harm  him  no  more  ;  he's  sore 
spent  as  it  is,  and  I  fear  me — I  fear  me " 

Diccon  dragged  his  arm  free  and  dealt  the  lad 
a  blow  that  sent  him  sprawling  upon  the  ground. 

"  Stay  there,  thou  puling  baby,  I'll  serve  thee 
last,  so  save  thy  breath  to  cool  thine. own  por- 
ridge. Marry,  an  it  paineth  thee  to  see  this  cur 
suffer,  thou  shalt  have  a  full  dose.  Hither,  Wat." 

Cawdrey  obeyed  the  summons  with  visible  re- 
luctance, for  to  his  slow  mind  it  seemed  best  to 
let  wounded,  like  sleeping  dogs,  alone,  and  he  had 
no  wish  to  feel  Silver's  teeth  even  in  his  weak- 
ened state. 

"  Nay,"  he  urged,  "  let's  be  off.  Thou'st  done 
enow  for  one  day — give  the  lad  a  taste  o'  thy  fists 
and  so  away — the  rain  is  coming  on." 

As  he  finished  speaking  he  approached  Hamnet, 


282        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

who  was  again  kneeling  protectingly  by  Silver, 
and  cuffed  him  with  such  force  that  he  reeled  over 
the  dog's  body. 

"  There,"  he  said,  triumphantly,  "  we  be  quits 
now — thou  and  me — wilt  take  back  that  lie  ?  " 

"  Nay,"  Hamnet  returned,  dauntlessly,  "  it  was 
no  lie.  Thou  know'st  whether  Master  Sturley 
succoured  thee  or  not  o'  Monday  night.  Oh !  ye 
think  that  because  my  father  is  away  ye  can 
wreak  what  ill  ye  will,  but  have  a  care.  Good 
Master  Page  and  others  beside  know  already  o' 
your  villainy,  and  if  aught  o'  harm  befalleth  us 
here  ye'll  have  short  reckoning  wi'  them." 

"  The  lad's  right,"  Cawdrey  cried,  in  great 
consternation,  retreating  at  the  same  time  to  the 
thicket.  "Come  —  come  —  the  beast  is  stirring 
now,  and  he'll  do  for  thee  an  thou'rt  na  watchful. 
Prithee — hurt  na  the  lad  furder.  I'  faith,  the  whole 
country-side  will  be  upon  us  for  his  sake.  Thou'st 
given  him  drubbing  enow,  and  thou'lt  pay  dear 
for  this  day's  sport,  but  by  cock  and  pie  !  I  be  na 
in  it.  I  was  loath  to  come,  and  that  thou  know'st 
an  thou  speak'st  truth.  And  thou  canst  na  say  I 
hurt  thee,  boy,  nor  thy  dog  neither,  but  only  that 
I  begged  yon  fellow  to  stay  his  hand.  Come 
away,  Diccon,  whiles  'tis  yet  time." 

"  Ay,  run,  thou  black-hearted  traitor,"  Diccon 
shouted  after  the  fleeing  figure,  "  save  thine  own 
skin,  thou  hemp-cracking  rascal !  I'll  be  even 


Hamnet  caught  the  raised  arm  in  his  hands  and  dragged  it   back 
with  all  his  pitiful  strength. 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       283 

wi'  thee  yet  for  this,  though  'twere  a  pity  to  do 
aught  to  rob  the  gallows  o'  its  fruit.  As  for 
thee,"  he  continued,  raining  blow  after  blow  up- 
on Hamnet's  defenceless  body,  "  beshrew  thee, 
thou'lt  na  soon  forget  how  one  Stratford  lad  kept 
his  promise." 

He  threw  the  half-senseless  form  from  him. 

"  Now,  lie  thou  there,"  he  snarled,  "  and  when 
thou  canst,  crawl  home  and  set  the  whole  town 
by  the  ears,  'tis  little  I  care.  An  they  search  far 
and  wide  they  will  na  find  me.  The  new  land  is 
the  land  for  me,  and  so — farewell. " 

He  strode  away  with  a  contemptuous  laugh 
which  the  freshening  breeze  bore  back  to  the 
quiet  spot — quiet,  save  for  the  rising  voice  of  the 
river  and  the  occasional  cry  of  some  bird  hasten- 
ing home  to  its  nest.  Then,  on  a  sudden,  a  great 
gust  of  wind  came  howling  through  the  long 
lines  of  willows  and  they  bent,  cowering  and  shiv- 
ering, before  the  fury  of  the  driving  storm,  which 
had  broken  at  last. 

After  a  time  the  keen  air  blowing  upon  the 
little  lad  revived  him.  He  struggled  up  into 
a  sitting  position  and  strove  to  disentangle  his 
thoughts.  It  was  almost  impossible  to  think  con- 
secutively with  that  dull  ache  all  through  his 
body,  and  the  duller  ache  at  his  heart.  Wait ! 
something  was  coming  back.  The  next  instant 
he  was  on  his  feet,  half  dazed  still,  and  half  blind 


284        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

in  his  weakness,  but  trying  to  pierce  the  darkness 
about  him  with  his  anxious  glance. 

"  Silver,"  he  cried,  tremulously,  "  where  art 
thou,  true  heart  ?  " 

The  river,  roaring  by,  seemed  to  still  its  angry 
voice,  the  trees  held  back  their  swaying  arms  as 
if  to  listen. 

"  Silver !     Silver " 

Silence  again — silence — and  then  a  low  whine 
near  at  hand,  followed  by  a  faint  bark. 

The  river  went  on  indifferently,  with  its  loud 
tumult,  the  trees  lashed  their  boughs  in  redoubled 
fury.  In  a  moment  Hamnet  was  at  the  dog's 
side,  his  face  on  the  slender  muzzle.  Silver  put 
out  his  tongue  and  attempted  to  lick  the  bruised 
cheek. 

"  Thou  liv'st,"  the  boy  cried  between  his  sobs, 
"  thou  liv'st " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

The  miserable  have  no  other  medicine, 
But  only  hope. 

MEASURE  FOR  MEASURE. 

Do  you  not  know  I  am  a  woman  ?  when  I  think  I  must  speak. 

As  You  LIKE  IT. 

JUDITH  raised  the  latch  of  Mistress  Hatha- 
way's  cottage-door  and  slipped  quickly  into 
the  house,  letting  the  door  slam  to   back 
of  her  with  such  force  that  all  the  casements  rat- 
tled as  violently  as  if  the  North  wind  had  de- 
scended upon  them  in  its  fury. 

"  Grandam,"  she  shouted,  "  Grandam." 
She  paused  for  a  moment  to  listen.    There  was 
no  one  in  the  living-room,  but  from  the  buttery 
beyond  there  came  the  sound  of  voices,  and  thither 
she  directed  her  steps,  calling  as  she  ran. 

"  Oh  !  ay,  ay,"  her  grandmother  replied,  testily, 
being  in  a  peevish  humour  that  morning,  "an 
thou'dst  give  a  body  time  to  speak  I'd  answer 
thee.  La,  I  do  detest,  thou'rt  more  unmannerly 
than  any  boy,  'tis  a  mercy  an  my  door  be  left  on  's 
hinge.  But  come  thou  hither,  thy  face  is  steam- 
ing like  a  yule-tide  pudding  and  as  tarnation  as 

285 


286        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

Neighbour  Stringer's  nose.  When  wilt  give  o'er 
thy  madcap  behaviours?" 

"  In  truth  I  did  but  run  the  whole  way  hither, 
for  that  I  must,"  the  little  lass  said,  breathlessly, 
"  there  be  sore  coil  at  home." 

"  Nay  then  I  respected  it — I  respected  it,"  Mis- 
tress Hathaway  interrupted,  with  a  triumphant 
ring  in  her  voice,  "  my  left  eye  itched  all  morn, 
and  that  thou  know'st  bodeth  weeping,  and  yes- 
treen, toward  sunset  or  belike  a  little  later,  as  we 
were  i'  the  garden  a  magpie  came  flying  toward 
us.  There  was  but  the  one,  though  I  looked  and 
looked  for  another ;  and  quoth  Gillian, '  There  be 
sorrow  comin','  and  I  said,  '  Ay,  'tis  on  the  way, 
but,  Tilly-vally,  we  be  all  immoral,  so  there  should 
be  no  lamentations.  'Tis  as  the  Lord  reposeth ! ' 
But  thy  grandfather  now —  La !  he  was  a  good- 
ly man,  though  full  o'  confirmities,  and  so  he's 
gone " 

"  Naught  aileth  my  grandfather,"  Judith  cried, 
"  'tis  Hamnet  that  is  sick." 

"How!  Hamnet?  Nay,  why  saidst  thou  not 
that  sooner?  Why  didst  keep  me  in  dispense? 
A  good  lad  and  a  senseless,  too,  and  like  his 
father!  Sick,  saidst  thou  ?  Now  what  of?  Thou'st 
put  me  into  such  tirrits  and  frights  wi'  thy  news. 
Come,  out  wi'  it !  Feel,  Gillian,  how  I  shake  an 
'twere  a  very  aspen  leaf." 

"  Od's  heartlings  that  do  'ee,  Missis." 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad        287 

"  Ay,  that  I  do  like  a  whole  forest  full  o'  leaves 
when  the  wind  is  up.  Thou  must  tell  thy  grandam 
and  the  rest  at  home,  Jude,  how  I  was  infected 
at  the  mere  suspicion  o'  the  news.  I've  a  tender 
heart,  but  there  !  canst  not  say  what  aileth  the 
lad  ?  Looketh  he  palely,  doth  his  pulsidges  beat 
extraordinarily,  hath  he  lost  his  appetite  incon- 
tinently? Hast  no  tongue  that  thou  canst  not  use 
it  ?  Hamnet  sick  !  Hamnet,  my  little,  doting  lad  ! 
Oh!  lackaday,  lackaday,  we've  fallen  on  parlous 
times.  But  dry  thine  eyes,  Gillian  wench,  and 
leave  off  weeping,  mouse.  Oh  !  he's  dead  —  he's 
dead.  O'  Sunday  night  there  was  a  winding 
sheet  i'  the  candle  —  nay  then,  Gillian,  thou  wast 
by  and  saw  it." 

"  E'en   so,    Missis,  e'en   so,  an'  thou   saidst   to 


"  But  Hamnet  is  not  dead,"  Judith  protested. 
"  Ye  be  cruel  to  say  so.  He's  only  sick,  and  my 
Grandam  Shakespeare  saith  he  will  get  well." 

"  We  be  i'  the  hands  o'  the  Lord,"  Mistress 
Hathaway  returned  piously,  taking  down  her 
apron  from  her  eyes  and  shaking  her  head  from 
side  to  side,  "  'tis  for  Him  to  prohibit!  'Twere 
well  and  more  christian-like  for  Mistress  Shake- 
speare to  be  more  hopeless  now,  and  have  faith 
i'  Him.  A  winding  sheet  i'  the  candle,  a  single 
magpie,  my  itching  eye  —  nay,  they  mean  no  good 
thing.  The  lad's  past  cure  —  that's  the  incertainty 


288         Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

o'  it!  And  'twere  good  to  bring  that  home  to  them 
that  think  they  know  more  than  the  Lord  above." 

"  Alack !  Grandam,  I  came  hither  for  thee  to 
help  us,  and  thou  frightest  me  so  I  must  e'en  go 
back." 

"  Shame  upon  thee  now  for  that  word  !  I'd  not 
fright  a  living  soul — 'tis  thou  hast  frighted  me 
wi'  thy  delays.  Thou'st  not  told  me  yet  what 
hath  befell  the  lad — but  I  must  e'en  be  patient. 
Am  I  not  his  grandam  as  well  as  Mistress  Shake- 
speare ?  And  yet,  she  knoweth,  marry,  whether 
he  hath  caught  the  inspection,  and  if  the  Lord's 
tokens  be  on  him,  or  if  he  hath  a  'tidian  fever. 
Speak,  lass.  Canst  not  tell  a  straight  story  in 
few  words  and  truly?" 

"Oh!  Grandam,  an  thou'dst  only  hearken " 

"  Nay,  Gillian,  I  do  detest,  leave  off  that  clatter 
wi'  thy  pans  and  sit  thee  down  and,  mouse,  come 
a  little  nearer  this  ways  and  so  begin." 

Judith  came  close  to  her  grandmother's  side. 

"  Thou  knowest  when  we  were  here  last  Satur- 
day how  we  watched  for  Hamnet,"  she  began, 
speaking  very  rapidly  for  fear  of  interruption, 
"though  he  had  not  promised,  sure,  that  he  would 
come,  only  belike.  And  then,  for  that  it  grew  so 
dark,  we  hastened  home — Mother,  Sue  and  me — 
running  most  o'  the  way,  but  the  rain  came  pelting 
down  before  ever  we  reached  Henley  Street,  and 
there  was  no  one  within  the  house  when  we  got 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       289 

there  save  only  Cicely  e'en  at  her  work — she  was 
just  back  from  her  holiday.  But  Hamnet  was 
nowhere  within  call,  and  he  came  not  home  that 
night.  My  grandfather  and  grandmother  were 
away  too,  and  mother  said  that  belike  they'd 
stayed  the  night  at  Uncle  Henry's  on  account  o' 
the  storm,  and  they  would  come  back  in  the 
morning,  and  'twas  even  as  she  said.  At  first 
that  night  she  was  sore  perplexed  about  Hamnet, 
and  then  she  thought  he'd  e'en  gone  to  Shottery 
— as  he'd  half  said  he  would,  and  somehow  we'd 
missed  him,  for  he's  a  fashion  o'  going  through 
the  thickets  after  blooms — and  that  when  he  came 
here  thou'dst  not  let  him  away." 

"  Ay,  I  warrant  me,  I'd  not  have  let  him  budge. 
He  was  ever  an  indelicate  child  and  a  weakly, 
and  I'd  have  kept  him  housed  willy-nilly.  Thy 
mother  should  have  known  that  an  she  had  any 
wit.  Nay,  sirrah,  I'd  have  said,  thou'lt  not  forth 
this  even,  thou'lt  stay  here  while  the  rain  lasteth 
an  'tis  the  flood  come  again.  And  what  wi'  pos- 
sets and  kickshaws  I'd  ha'  made  the  time  pass 
tediously  enow  withal — he'd  not  exchanged  it  an 
he  could.  But  he  came  not  hither,  and  that's  the 
long  and  short  o'  it." 

"  Ay,  truly,  we  know  that  now  ;  only  then,  just 

to  think  o'  his  being  here  out  o'  the  wind  and 

wet — for  'twas  a  grievous  storm — made  the  house 

pleasant  to  us  again  and  we  could  e'en  sleep  sweet, 

19 


2go        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

but — "  Judith's  voice  broke  and  she  went  on  with 
a  sob,  "  but  in  the  morning  betimes,  before  ever  the 
bidding-bell  had  sounded  or  we  were  ready  for 
church,  he  came  creeping  home.  Oh !  thou'dst 
scarce  have  known  him,  his  face  was  so  white  and 
little,  and  all  drawn  wi'  pain,  and  his  clothes  were 
torn  and  wet  and  he  had  no  shirt  on's  poor  back. 
At  first  methought  'twas  some  beggar  lad — I  was 
e'en  spying  forth  to  see  if  Hamnet  would  come — 
but  when  he  got  closer  I  saw  who  it  was,  and  out 
I  ran.  'Twas  raining  some,  but  softly,  too,  and 
when  I  came  up  to  him  I  saw  that  he  was  half 
bearing  Silver  and  half  leading  him,  and  quoth 
he: 

" '  Cheerly,  true  heart,  cheerly  now,  here's  Jude 
come  to  meet  thee.' 

"  At  that  I  cried  out : 

"  '  Nay,  what  hath  befallen  thee,  sweet  bro.ther, 
thou'rt  sore  hurt  ? '  for  I  could  see  his  arms  were 
all  cut  and  bleeding. 

"  And  he  saith  : 

" '  Tis  little  matter  about  my  hurts,  they're 
naught,  'tis  only  my  true  Silver  here  that  suffer- 
eth.  Help  me  to  bear  him  better,  but  gently — 
gently.  So,  dear  heart,  so,  we'll  not  pain  thee — 
we  be  home  at  last.' 

"  And  there  we  were,  and  all  the  others  came 
crowding  to  the  door  to  meet  us,  but  Hamnet  had 
no  word  to  say  about  himself.  When  we  put  Sil- 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       291 

ver  down  upon  the  floor  he  needs  must  tend  the 
wound,  and  Grandam  Shakespeare,  seeing  how 
he  felt,  to  humour  him  did  say  she'd  e'en  wash  it 
wi'  her  own  hands,  and  lay  salve  upon  it,  if  only 
he  would  get  off  his  wet  clothes  and  go  to  bed. 
But  he  answered  and  said  : 

" '  I  cry  thee  pardon,  sweet  Grandam,  I  must 
e'en  see  to  the  wound  myself  ;  'twas  had  for  my 
sake,  and  Silver,  thou  know'st,  is  my  very  own. 
Cross  me  not  i'  this  thing  and  thou  may'st  do  wi' 
me  as  thou  wilt.' 

"  Then  he  undid  the  wrappings  that  were  made 
from  his  own  shirt,  torn  small,  and  showed  us  all 
a  grievous  cut  on  Silver's  shoulder,  and  he  bathed 
it  so  careful  that  Silver  did  not  even  wince.  And 
when  'twas  all  made  fair,  Hamnet  turned  him  to 
my  grandam  and  gave  her  thanks." 

"  Now  a  weak  woman  and  a  fond  !  An  I'd 
been  there  I  trow  no  dog  should  ha'  been  served 
before  's  master.  Mistress  Shakespeare  hath  a 
soft  heart,  though  verily  an  thou  'dst  thwart  her 
she  can  be  firm  enow.  And  she  liketh  her  own 
way — as  'tis  ever  the  case  wi'  such  gentle-spoken 
women — and  hath  it  oft,  I  warrant  me.  Well, 
there's  nobody  but  hath  faults,  but  there  !  let  that 
pass.  Tell  me  more  o'  Hamnet ;  did  they  rub 
him  and  give  him  a  hot  posset  ?  " 

"  Yea,  that  they  did.  They  put  him  in  my 
mother's  bed,  and  oh !  thou  canst  not  think  how 


292        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

bruised  and  sore  his  poor  body  was.  My  mother 
and  my  grandam  were  weeping  at  the  sight." 

"  How  came  it  so — did  the  lad  fall?  " 

"  Nay,  nay,  'twas  like  this.  That  Saturday  af- 
ternoon he  and  Silver  had  gone  out  Charlecote 
way  and  had  rested  them  by  the  river  in  such  a 
lonesome  place,  it  maketh  me  all  shivery  just  to 
go  by  it  in  the  sunshine,  for  'tis  ever  so  dark  and 
quiet  there.  Hamnet  had  a  letter  from  my  father, 
which  good  Master  Page  had  brought  from  Ox- 
ford, where  my  father  had  given  it  to  his  keep- 
ing, and  whiles  my  sweet  brother  was  e'en  read- 
ing o'  it,  a  cruel,  big  boy  set  upon  him  from  be- 
hind, beating  him  and  wounding  Silver  full  sore. 
Then,  when  he  had  done  his  wicked  will,  he  went 
away  and  for  a  long  time  Hamnet  knew  naught — 
'twas  as  if  he  were  asleep." 

"  Ah,  poor  heart !  Now  a  swound — afore  heav- 
en, a  swound ! " 

"  Ay,  so  my  mother  saith.  When  he  woke 
why  he  needs  must  find  Silver,  but  'twas  so  dark 
he  could  scarce  see  's  hand  before  's  face,  for 
the  rain  had  come  on,  so  he  called,  and  then  Sil- 
ver made  answer,  but  faintly,  too.  Whereupon 
Hamnet  crept  him  to  the  poor  beast  and  tended 
him  as  best  he  could  and  helped  him  to  his  feet, 
but  Silver  could  not  step,  the  pain  was  grievous 
bad  and  he  was  weak,  too,  for  that  his  wound  had 
bled  so  much.  Then  my  sweet  boy  took  him  in  's 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       293 

arms  and  bore  him — nay,  thou  knowest  how  big 
the  dog  is — a  little  way  deeper  into  the  thicket, 
and  there  they  lay  them  down  together,  sheltered 
from  the  storm.  Hamnet  would  not  leave  him, 
so  they  waited  all  through  the  night  for  the  morn- 
ing, and  then  came  they  home — but  slowly — very 
slowly." 

"  Now,  a  piteous  tale — a  passing  piteous  tale  ! 
Oh,  my  poor  lad  !  And  all  night  say'st  thou — and 
Saturday  night  ?  Nay,  'twas  a  naughty  night ! 
Well  do  I  remember  how  I  said  to  Gillian,  as  we 
hearkened  to  the  drip-drip  o'  the  rain  and  the  roar- 
ing o'  the  wind ;  '  There  be  wild  work  abroad 
and  I'd  not  let  my  dearest  foe  stay  wi'out  for  a 
king's  transom.'  And  my  little  lad  was  all  that 
while  i'  the  woods  wi'  the  wild  beasts.  Nay,  I 
could  have  found  it  in  my  heart  to  give  them 
shelter,  too,  though  peradventure  'twould  ha' 
been  a  sensible  thing  to  do,  for  they  might 
ha'  turned  and  rended  me.  But  my  pretty  boy — 
alack !  he  hath  caught  his  death.  Now,  what 
'cullion  was't  that  handled  him  so  respitefully  ? 
'Twere  best  the  Master  Bailiff  were  told  that  he 
might  comprehend  the  caitiff  wretch.  How  is  he 
called  ?  " 

"  'Twas  Diccon  Hobday,"  Judith  answered, 
"  but  think  not  Hamnet  told  o'  's  own  free  will. 
When  my  mother  and  grandam  did  question  him 
he  said :  '  Let  be,  methinks  Silver  will  mend  and 


294        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

so  let  be.  As  for  this  threshing,  why  I  care  not 
— thou  see'st  I'd  broke  my  word — nay,  seek  not 
to  know,  I'll  not  tell  his  name.'  So  he  would  say, 
but  afterwards  when  he  had  gone  to  sleep,  why 
then — the  queerest  thing! — he  began  to  thresh 
about  with  's  arms  and  talked  so  strange.  Now, 
'twas  o'  Ned,  now  'twas  Diccon,  and  anon  he'd 
call  father,  and  pray  him  not  to  look  sorrowfully. 
Once  he  started  up  in  bed,  and  cried:  'Diccon 
Hobday,  thou  shalt  not  touch  my  dog,  beat  me 
an  thou  wilt,  but  spare  him.'  So  then  we  knew, 
and  my  grandfather  was  exceeding  wroth,  and  he 
went  out  wi'  a  big  stick  in  's  hand,  but  it  came 
to  naught — Diccon  Hobday  was  nowhere  to  be 
found. 

"  And  all  the  while  my  mother  and  grandam 
sat  above  wi'  Hamnet,  and  anon  he  fell  into  a 
deep  sleep.  They  would  not  let  me  in  that  day, 
but  the  next  morn  I  peeped  in  the  room,  and — 
nay,  I  never  saw  Hamnet  fairer — his  cheeks  were 
as  red  as  any  rose,  and  his  eyes  so  bright — verily 
they  were  like  the  stars.  But  though  they  looked 
at  me,  'twas  as  if  they  did  not  see  me.  So  I  just 
stopped  without  and  watched.  My  grandam  was 
there  at  the  side  o'  the  bed,  and  ever  and  anon 
she'd  sop  his  face  wi'  some  cool,  sweet-smelling 
water " 

"  Ay,  ay,  of  course,  the  woman  hath  some  in- 
ward touch  o'  sense !  Belike  'twas  a  diffusion  o' 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad       295 

chamomile  flowers,  for  that  is  good  to  wash  the 
head  and  comfort  the  brain." 

"  I  wot  not  truly,  but  soon  he  went  off  to  sleep, 
and  when  he  waked  again,  though  his  cheeks 
were  still  red,  his  eyes  had  a  different  look  and 
he  smiled  into  grandam's  face,  and  tried  to  sit  up, 
but  he  could  not,  so  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  he  fell 
a-weeping. 

"  And  grandam  said  : 

"  '  Nay,  sweet,  rest  thee  awhile,  'twill  all  come 
right.  Where  doth  it  hurt  thee,  sweet  ? ' 

"  And  he  made  answer,  though  slowly  too : 

"  '  Tis  but  a  little  pain,  I  mind  it  no  more  than 
a  bee's  sting,  but  yet  it  yearneth  me  that  I  cannot 
go  to  Silver.  His  case  is  worser  than  mine,  for  I 

can  speak,  whiles  he '  whereupon  he  did  sob 

and  sob. 

"  Then  my  grandam  went  to  the  stair  head 
and  called  down  a  few  words  to  my  grandfather, 
and  in  another  moment  —  what  think'st  thou? 
He  came  up  the  stairs  bearing  Silver  in's  arms. 
And  when  he  got  to  the  room  he  set  him  on 
the  floor  gently,  and  Silver  walked  in  —  but  oh, 
so  lame  —  over  to  the  bed,  whereat  Hamnet 
was  much  pleased,  for  all  that  he  was  crying. 
Then  did  my  grandfather  kneel  him  down  and 
unbind  Silver's  shoulder  and  lay  fresh  ointment 
upon  it.  I  know  what  'twas — 'twas  compounded 
o'  hyssop." 


296        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

"  Now  I  praise  heaven  the  Shakespeares  have 
some  inception  o'  the  virtue  o'  herbs." 

"And  Hamnet  looked  on,  smiling  and  saying 
softly  all  the  while  : 

"  '  Good  Silver,  take  heart,  lad.' 

"  Was  not  my  grandfather  passing  kind?  And 
after  that,  not  once  but  many  times  did  he  tend 
Silver  and  bring  him  food  to  eat  withal.  Oh ! 
'twas  a  brave  physic  and  worked  like  a  very 
charm — thou  wouldst  not  guess,  but  now  Silver 
can  go  by  himself,  though  it  be  only  to  crawl,  and 

he  is  ever  in  the  room  wi'  Hamnet,  still "  the 

young  voice  broke  with  a  deep  sob.  The  next 
moment  the  child  went  on. 

"  Still  Hamnet  groweth  no  better  and  I  marvel 
why.  He  just  lieth  there  weak  and  smiling,  and 
when  we  ask  him  how  he  doth,  he  ever  answers : 
"  '  Why,  well  and  happy,  only  a  little  tired.'  He 
hath  not  much  to  say,  and  he  e'en  keepeth  my 
father's  letter  close  in's  hand.  Yesterday — that's 
Wednesday — he  had  not  mended  and  his  cheeks 
were  still  so  red,  and  toward  sundown  his  eyes 
took  on  that  bright  shining,  and  then,  all  through 
the  night  he  talked  and  muttered.  Nay,  we  knew 
not  what  he  meant — over  and  over  again  he  would 
say  :  '  A  Shakespeare  hath  never  broke  his  word  ! 
I'll  not  be  the  first  to  do  it — '  and  then  he'd  cry: 
"  London — Father — London  —  Father — '  So  this 
morn,  ere  the  sun's  uprising,  my  grandfather  hied 


He  just  lieth  there  weak  and  smiling." 


Will  Shakespeares  Little  Lad       297 

him  to  the  Swan  to  give  a  message  to  some  trav- 
eller to  London  to  take  to  my  father  there — 'twas 
one  my  grandam  had  writ,  wherein  she  said  how 
sick  Hamnet  was,  and  bade  my  father  to  come." 

"  Marry,  will  he  do  it?" 

"  Ay,  verily,  he'd  go  through  fire  and  water  for 
Hamnet's  sake.  But,  oh  !  'twill  be  so  long  before 
he  will  be  here.  Sue  saith  'twill  be  four  days  be- 
fore ever  the  letter  reacheth  him,  and  then  four 
other  days " 

"  Nay,  then,  he  will  not  come." 

"  Thou  dost  not  know  my  father ;  he'll  ride  his 
fleetest,  I  warrant  me.  But  Grandam,  wilt  help 
me  to  make  Hamnet  well  before  he  cometh? 
'Twill  pleasure  him  so.  Susanna  is  with  my  mother 
and  grandam  all  the  day  waiting  on  them,  but 
there  is  so  little  I  can  do.  This  morn  I  ran  hither 
to  tell  thee  all — nay  I  said  not  a  word  to  any  one 
— and  see!  I've  brought  my  bit  o'  coral  along — 
the  same  I  had  when  that  I  was  a  tiny  babe,  and 
I  would  e'en  powder  it  fine  for  a  potion  for  Ham- 
net." 

"  A  potion  ?     Buz!     Thou'rt  a  green  girl." 

"  I  pray  thee  flout  me  not,  they  take  it  for 
physic  at  Court,  and  prize  it  highest  there.  'Tis 
the  very  truth,  my  father  told  me  so.  'Twas  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  that  brought  it  back  from  the 
new  world " 

"  Now,  Raleigh   me   no   Raleighs !     Let   them 


298        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

keep  such  perditious  stuffs  to  themselves,  I've 
better  cure-alls  here.  There's  burnet,  now,  and 
loveage  and  setewall  for  the  inwards,  and  hore- 
hound  for  bruises,  and  there's  marjoram  to  com- 
fort both  the  outside  and  the  in.  Belike  thy 
grandam  hath  not  thought  on  them.  I've  many 
other  simples  confounded  here ;  thou  wert  wise 
to  come  for,  peradventure,  I  can  save  the  lad 
—  though  we  be  i'  the  Lord's  hands  after  all, 
and  there  was  that  sign  i'  the  candle !  I'll  set 
forth  wi'  thee  even  now.  But  first  go  thou 
into  the  garden,  Gillian,  and  gather  me  some 
house-leek.  Thou  'dst  never  think,  mouse,  what 
good  can  come  from  its  bruised  leaves!  When 
'tis  bound  on  the  forehead  'twill  ease  the  dis- 
temperate  heat  o'  the  brain  in  frenzies.  And 
thou  may'st  get  down  a  bottle  o*  cowslip  wine, 
too — 'tis  a  good  wine  and  marvellous  searching 
withal.  An  Hamnet  cannot  take  it,  thy  grand- 
father can.  Now,  I  pray  heaven  we  be  not  too 
late.  Such  a  child  as  never  was  i'  this  world  be- 
fore— I'll  never  see  his  like  again — as  merry  as  a 
critic  and  so  gentle  and  true  and  full  o'  wit 
withal.  And  come  to  this!  Nay,  'tis  the  old 
should  go  first,  we  that  be  old  and  o'  little  use, 
but  the  young — out  upon  these  tears !  Lend  me 
thy  shoulder,  child,  and  bear  wi'  me.  I  be  very 
old  and  foolish,  and  the  little  lad  is  wrapped 
round  my  heart — close — close." 


CHAPTER  XX 

Grief  fills  the  room  up  of  my  absent  child, 
Lies  in  his  bed,  walks  up  and  down  with  me, 
Puts  on  his  pretty  looks,  repeats  his  words, 
Remembers  me  of  all  his  gracious  parts, 
Stuffs  out  his  vacant  garments  with  his  form. 

KING  JOHN. 

ACROSS  the  grassy  valley  of  the  Stour, 
stretching  away  to  the  south,  past  Ship- 
ston,  ran  the  London  road.  A  goodly 
road  in  truth.  One  that  happy  hearts  had  trav- 
elled and  would  travel — now  God  willing — many 
and  many  a  time.  And  one,  again,  that  heavy 
hearts  had  measured  and  would  measure — now 
God  have  pity — beyond  all  numbering.  Laugh- 
ter and  tears — sunshine  and  shade — pleasure  and 
pain — the  very  epitome  of  living !  A  highway 
glowing  with  fair  fortune  and  bright  hopes — a 
highway  sombre  with  dire  distress  and  grievous 
heart-break,  and  still  above  it  curved  the  same 
sky,  or  blue,  or  grey,  and  underneath  its  dome 
the  little  tale  of  life  went  on. 

Out  of  the   south,  in  the  chill  of  an  August 
dawn,  a  horseman  spurred  hotly  over  that  same 

299 


300        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

thoroughfare,  his  face  set  and  tense,  his  clothes 
white  with  the  dust  of  travel.  As  he  journeyed 
on,  with  his  steady  gaze  fixed  ever  before  him,  he 
had  no  least  glance  to  bestow  upon  the  growing 
fairness  of  his  surroundings.  In  vain  for  him  did 
the  morning  mists  reel  before  the  sun  in  great, 
golden  spirals,  shot  with  rose,  that  chased  the  dark 
clouds  into  the  west  and  opened  up  a  pathway 
for  the  royal  progress.  In  vain  did  the  distant 
hills  catch  a  touch  of  glory  upon  their  filmy 
crests.  In  vain  did  the  rippling  Stour  flash,  sil- 
ver-like, in  the  clearer  light,  and  the  Avon,  flowing 
down  to  the  Severn  and  the  sea,  held  all  in  vain 
some  of  the  day's  brightness  in  its  placid  waters. 
In  vain  did  the  lark  soar  high  into  the  heavens, 
singing  its  song  at  the  very  gates.  Nor  sun,  nor 
shining  hill,  nor  sparkling  stream,  nor  glittering 
blade  and  leaf,  nor  singing  bird  had  aught  to  say 
to  the  man  pressing  ever  forward. 

But,  at  last,  when  he  had  come  within  sight  of 
the  old  stone  bridge,  with  its  causeway  supported 
on  arches  above  the  swampy  meads,  he  halted  to 
breathe  his  horse  and  glanced  at  the  slow-flowing 
river  as  at  a  familiar  friend,  and  at  the  little  town, 
just  waking  from  its  slumbers,  on  the  opposite 
shore,  where  the  spire  of  Trinity  rose  from  its 
bower  of  trees.  He  drew  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 
With  Stratford  there  in  front  of  him  hope  leaped 
again  in  his  breast  and  thrust  back  with  a  mighty 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       301 

lance  all  those  grim  thoughts  of  apprehension 
and  sadness  that  had  made  every  mile  of  his 
terrible  journey  seem  a  score  in  its  slow  unfold- 
ing. And  thus  thrilled  he  could  see  with  clearer 
eyes. 

The  horse  snuffed  the  freshening  river  breeze 
with  eager  nostrils,  seeming  to  gain  new  vigour 
with  each  inhalation,  while  the  rider,  in  his  turn, 
felt  a  sudden  sense  of  peace  descend  upon  him  as 
if  some  of  the  tranquillity  and  beauty  of  the  young 
day  had  crept  into  his  tormented  soul.  Nay,  all 
was  well  of  a  surety,  he  told  himself,  for  the  night 
was  past.  He  bent  and  patted  the  steed  with  an 
encouraging  touch  as  he  set  him  once  more  in 
motion  and  went  dashing  over  the  long,  grey 
bridge,  the  flying  hoofs  breaking  the  sleeping 
stillness  all  around. 

Old  Raven,  with  his  broom  and  shovel  borne 
aloft  upon  his  shoulder,  came  scrambling  up  the 
causeway  from  the  Stratford  side  with  what  haste 
he  could  muster.  It  was  early  yet  for  work,  but 
at  almost  any  time,  now,  travellers  might  be  start- 
ing forth  on  their  journey  Londonward,  and  it 
behooved  him  to  speed  their  departure  with  a 
civility  which  often  received  its  proper  recom- 
pense in  coin  of  the  realm,  though  oftenest  only  in 
words  of  cheer — sorry  substitutes,  to  the  cleaner's 
way  of  thinking.  With  his  lynx-like  eyes  he  had 
noted  from  afar  the  tiny  cloud  of  dust  spreading 


302        Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad 

along  his  special  province  which  heralded  the 
coming  of  a  horseman,  and  his  old  heart  beat  tri- 
umphantly as  panting,  but  still  in  time,  he  took 
up  his  position  a  little  at  one  side,  in  an  attitude 
of  arrested  industry.  And  yet,  notwithstanding 
his  seductive  phrases  of  welcome,  he  might  have 
been  a  part  of  the  stone  guard-wall  which  testi- 
fied to  Sir  Hugh's  public  spirit  for  all  the  notice 
that  was  taken  of  him  and  his  outstretched  hand. 

"  Now,  by  'r  la'  kin  it  be  Wully  Shaxper,"  he 
exclaimed  in  dismay,  "  an'  a  had  nowt  for  I."  He 
cast  an  anxious  glance  in  the  direction  of  the 
vanishing  rider,  to  make  sure  that  he  was  not 
dreaming.  "  Ay,  it  be  Wully,"  he  continued,  in 
utter  mystification,  "but  what  be  corned  to  he? 
Summat's  happed  as  sure  as  shinin' — it  be  the  fust 
time  a  ever  passed  I  by  loike  that." 

Meanwhile  Will  Shakespeare,  bending  low  to 
his  saddle  bows  and  urging  his  good  horse  for- 
ward, turned  into  Back  Bridge  Street.  Early  as 
it  was,  some  shopmen  were  at  their  stalls  in  Mid- 
dle Row,  getting  ready  for  what  business  the  day 
might  bring,  setting  forth  their  wares  or  casting 
up  the  tallies  which  they  had  chalked  upon  their 
wooden  shutters  or  doors  on  the  yesterday.  Sev- 
eral of  them  turned  in  stupid  wonderment  at 
sight  of  the  flying  figure,  then,  as  stolidly,  they 
turned  again  to  the  petty  affairs  in  hand,  their 
minds  as  unruffled  by  the  unexpected  passing  as 


Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad       303 

a  stagnant  pool,  sleeping  beneath  its  coverlid  of 
green,  is  disturbed  by  the  flight  of  a  bird  far 
above. 

There  were  other  signs  of  life  abroad ;  two  or 
three  garrulous  house-wives  were  sauntering 
slowly  toward  the  public  pump,  a  little  goose-girl 
loitered  along  at  one  side,  singing  lustily  and  pay- 
ing scant  heed  to  her  waddling  charges,  and  sev- 
eral workmen,  with  their  mattocks  across  their 
shoulders,  were  dawdling  to  their  tasks  in  the 
near-lying  fields.  There  was  no  thought  of  hurry 
or  worry  anywhere  this  fresh,  bright  morning, 
save  in  the  breast  of  the  traveller  from  far-away 
London  town. 

He  turned  into  Henley  Street  and  there,  before 
him,  was  the  home  he  loved.  Smoke  from  the 
chimney — thank  God !  An  open  casement — thank 
God ! — and  someone  already  stirring  in  the  gar- 
den. Someone,  perhaps,  who  had  been  up  all 
night  in  a  sick-room  and  had  come  out  among  the 
growing  things  to  breathe  in  the  sweet,  soft  air,  or 
belike — since  all  was  well  —  to  gather  a  handful 
of  lettuce  leaves  for  the  morning's  meal.  He 
reined  in  his  horse,  smiling  a  little  to  himself. 
He  must  wait  for  his  foolish  heart  to  stop  its  tu- 
multuous beating — his  anxiety  had  made  a  very 
woman  of  him.  And  so,  halting,  he  glanced 
around  with  eager  eyes. 

How   fair  it  was  !     How  trim   Master   Lane's 


304        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

hedge  looked,  and  what  a  fine  showing  his  garden 
made !  There  was  the  Quineys'  house  close  by, 
and  this  was  Master  George  Badger's,  while  just 
around  in  Henley  Lane  rose  the  tall  elms  that 
shaded  the  dwelling-place  of  good  Nicholas  Page 
— now  Heaven  bless  him  a  thousand  thousand 
times!  Back  came  Will  Shakespeare's  roving  eyes 
to  his  own  home  garden ;  he  urged  his  tired  horse 
a  step  nearer.  Nay,  he'd  make  sure  who  it  was 
abroad  there  betimes  —  Mother,  Wife,  the  little 
girls,  or  the  kitchen  wench.  What  was  that  low- 
stooping  figure  doing  there  by  the  garden  wall  ? 
Not  smelling  the  flowers — not  picking  lettuce 
—not— Oh,  God  !  Oh,  God  ! 

He  stared  straight  before  him — all  the  blood 
gone  from  his  face — at  that  swift,  darting  shape 
bending  down  by  the  straw-bound  hives  along  the 
wall,  bending  down  with  the  fluttering  shred  of 
black  in  her  hands,  and  whispering  something  to 
the  quiet  inmates  within.  It  was  Cicely  telling 
the  bees. 

And  still  he  sat  there  staring  before  him,  dumb, 
helpless,  chilled  to  the  marrow,  but  not  sightless. 
He  could  still  see  the  garden  and  that  stooping 
form,  the  softly  waving  trees,  the  nodding  flowers 
so  dazzlingly  gay,  and  beyond  them  the  house — 
home  ! — where  the  smoke  curled  from  the  chimney 
and  where  all  the  windows — not  one  alone — and 
the  doors  were  flung  wide.  A  red-breast  flashed 


Will  Shakespeare's  Little  Lad        305 

for  a  moment  in  the  sun — a  vivid  rush  of  scarlet 
— as  it  darted  across  to  Nicholas  Lane's  hedge, 
with  its  twittering  note,  and  from  somewhere  in 
the  near  distance  there  came  the  sound  of  a 
school-boy's  happy  call. 

Then,  on  a  sudden,  it  was  very  dark.  A  great 
blindness  fell  upon  the  watcher ;  he  could  see 
naught  in  the  confused  blur  of  earth  and  sky.  The 
pleasant  landscape  held  no  faintest  hint  of  beauty 
or  peace,  though  the  sun — which  is  the  saddest 
thing  in  all  this  world — went  on  with  its  cruel 
shining. 

The  family  had  gathered  in  the  living-room — 
all  there  together  save  one — and  the  air  was  heavy 
with  the  sound  of  weeping.  Will  Shakespeare 
paused  for  a  moment,  trembling  on  the  thresh- 
old. 

"  I — I — tarried  not,"  he  said,  brokenly,  "  but — I 
— come — too — late.  Nay,  stay  me  not  now." 

He  put  them  by  with  a  hasty  hand,  he  did  not 
even  seem  to  see  them  as  he  crossed  the  room 
with  his  white,  hopeless  face  thrown  back,  and 
his  dry  eyes  staring  fixedly  before  him. 

They  listened  to  his  slow  steps  creeping  up  the 
creaking  staircase,  as  if  some  heavy  weight  had 
been  laid  upon  him  which  made  it  impossible  for 
him  to  climb  faster.  When  he  had  reached  the 
top  there  was  a  momentary  pause — for  strength 
— for  courage — who  could  say  ?  then  those  drag- 

20 


306        Will  Shakespeare  s  Little  Lad 

ging  foot-falls  went  across  the  entry,  and  then 
there  was  the  closing  of  a  door. 

And  still  listening,  they  heard  poor,  maimed 
Silver  crawl  slowly  up,  in  his  turn — step  by  step 
• — and  fling  himself  upon  the  floor  outside  of  that 
closed  door,  with  a  low  moan  of  grief. 


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COCHRANE  THE  DAUNTLESS.  A  TALE  OF  THE  EXPLOITS  OF  LORD  COCH- 
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A  KNIGHT  OF  THE  WHITE  CROSS.  A  TALE  OF  THE  SIEGE  OF  RHODES. 
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THE  TIGER  OF  MYSORE.  A  STORY  OF  THE  WAR  WITH  TIPPOO  SAID.  With 
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IN  THE  HEART  OF  THE  ROCKIES.    A  STORY  OF  ADVENTURE  IN  COLORADO. 

WHEN  LONDON  BURNED.    A  STORY  OF  RESTORATION  TIMES  AND  THE  GREAT 

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WULF  THE  SAXON.    A  STORY  OF  THE  NORMAN  CONQUEST. 

ST.  BARTHOLOMEWS  EVE.    A  TALK  OF  THE  HUGUENOT  WARS. 

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CONDEMNED  AS  A  NIHILIST.    A  STORY  OF  ESCAPE  FROM  SIBERIA. 
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IN  GREEK  WATERS.  A  STORY  OF  THE  GRECIAN  WAR  OF  INDEPENDENCE 
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THE  DASH  FOR  KHARTOUM.    A  TALE  OF  THE  NILE  EXPEDITION. 
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KIRK  MUNROE'S  STIRRING  TALES 
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In  this  new  story  Mr.  Munroe  opens  to  view  an  exceedingly  interesting  period  of 
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hero  of  the  story,  is  a  young  Indian  of  nob)e  birth,  the  son  of  Philip,  the  chieftain 
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This  story  deals  with  the  Conquest  of  Mexico  by  Cortes  and  his  Spaniards,  the 
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great  Aztec  kingdom  and  established  their  power  in  the  wondrous  city  where 
Montezuma  reigned  in  barbaric  splendor. 


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THE  KNIGHTS  OF  THE  ROUND  TABLE.     Illustrated  and  cover  designed  by 

S.  R.  BURLEIGH.    izmo,  $1.50. 

Mr.  Frost's  volumes  of  folk-lore  stories  have  achieved  a  deserved  popularity,  and 
this  last  one,  dealing  with  the  ever-fascinating  theme  of  the  Round  Table  and  its 
knights,  is  equal  to  either  of  his  earlier  books. 

MR.  FROST'S  FORMER  BOOKS 

THE  COURT  OF  KINO  ARTHUR.  STORIES  FROM  THE  LAND  OF  THE  ROUND 
TABLE.  Illustrated  by  S.  R.  BURLEIGH.  izmo,  $1.50. 

Mr.  Frost  has  had  the  happy  idea  of  making  a  journey  to  the  different  places  con- 
nected with  the  Arthurian  romances  by  history  or  legend,  and  of  relating  the  ever 
new  Round  Table  Tales  on  their  sites,  to  the  same  little  girl,  now  somewhat  older, 
to  whom  he  told  his  charming  Wagner  stories. 

THE  WAGNER  STORY  BOOK.  FIRELIGHT  TALES  OF  THE  GREAT  Music 
DRAMAS.  Illustrated  by  SIDNEY  R.  BURLEIGH.  izmo,  $1.50. 

"  A  successful  attempt  to  make  the  romantic  themes  of  the  music  drama  intelligi- 
ble to  young  readers.  The  author  has  full  command  of  his  subject,  and  the  style 
is  easy,  graceful,  and  simple." — Boston  Beacon. 


ROBERT  GRANT'S  TWO  BOOKS  FOR  BOYS 

JACK  HALL;  OR,  THE  SCHOOL  DAYS  OF  AN  AMERICAN  BOY.    Illustrated  by  F. 
G.  ATTWOOD.    izmo,  $1.25. 

"A  better  book  for  boys  has  never  been  written.    It  is  pure,  clean,  and  healthy, 
and  has  throughout  a  vigorous  action  that  holds  the  reader  breathlessly." 

—  Boston  Herald. 

JACK  IN  THE  BUSH  ;  OR,  A  SUMMER  ON  A  SALMON  RIVER.    Illustrated  by  F.  T. 
MERRILL,   izmo,  $1.25. 

"  A  clever  book  for  boys.    It  is  the  story  of  the  camp  life  of  a  lot  of  boys,  and  is 
destined  to  please  every  boy  reader.    It  is  attractively  illustrated." 

—Detroit  Free  Press. 

THE  RANTER  GIRLS 
By  MARY  L,  B.  BRANCH.    Illustrated  by  HELEN  M.  ARMSTRONG.    Square  tamo, 


The  adventures  of  Jane  and  Prue,  two  small  sisters,  among  different  peoples  of 
the  imaginative  world  —  dryads,  snow-children,  Kobolds,  etc.—  aided  by  their 
invisible  rings,  their  magic  ooat,  and  their  wonderful  birds,  are  described  by  the 
author  with  great  naturalness  and  a  true  gift  for  story-telling.  The  numerous 
illustrations  are  very  attractive,  and  in  thorough  sympathy  with  the  text. 


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